


Dancing Stags

by VVSIGNOFTHECROSS



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-09
Updated: 2015-12-08
Packaged: 2018-04-03 17:03:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 56
Words: 109,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4108369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VVSIGNOFTHECROSS/pseuds/VVSIGNOFTHECROSS
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joffrey Baratheon will rule Westeros one way or another, for his is the fury, and his roar is louder than all else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hléapung Héahdéor

**4 th Month of 298 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Prince Joffrey Baratheon**

Jon Arryn, the hand of the king was dead. He had died suddenly and without explanation. Some merely thought he had fallen ill, he was old that was true, and as such some were merely saying old age had caught up with him. Joffrey though was not so sure, Jon Arryn had been a very healthy man, a man who had put even Joffrey’s own father to shame, and that was somewhat of a feat considering his father was still in reasonably good health despite the drinking and whoring. No, Joffrey was certain there was more to it than met the eye. Something or someone had killed Jon Arryn, and whoever that person was Joffrey intended to find them, for they knew things, things that would be very dangerous if they got into the wrong hands.

Joffrey looked at Waymar, the only person he truly counted as a friend, and said. “What do you think Waymar? There is too much that looks wrong with this picture would you not agree?”

Waymar Royce was slightly older than Joffrey who himself had just turned four and ten a few days ago, his friend was tall, handsome and confident, the things Joffrey had but did not possess. And it showed when he replied. “I agree Your Grace. There is too much that looks wrong. Jon Arryn was far too healthy a man to merely be put down by something as simple as a fever. No there most definitely is something at play.”

Joffrey nods and says. “It does look odd that Lady Lysa did not even remain for her husband’s funeral as well. One would think she is running from something. Either that or she feared her husband’s dead body would contaminate the little shit she calls a son.”

Waymar laughs at that and says. “It is most likely that Your Grace. Robert Arryn does not have the strength to last through his lessons let alone a funeral. And Lysa has always been running from something or the other her whole life. It is in her nature. Though I noticed Baelish was spending a lot of time in her company before Lord Jon died.”

Joffrey looks at his friend then and asks. “She was spending time with Baelish? Now that is interesting. What do you think those two were getting up to?”

“Perhaps talking about how fortunate it was that Jon Arryn died when he did. Otherwise the man would have noticed how close his wife and the master of coin had been getting recently.” Waymar quips. “And Baelish does have that reputation of his to think of. Can’t be seen as being too slimy, otherwise no one would want to take money from him.”

Joffrey smiles at that. “Very true. Baelish is a rat that much I know. A rat that my father seems to keep around for no apparent reason, other than his apparent ability to cough up coin from somewhere or the other.”

“More than likely from the numerous brothels he owns as well as the seedy people he deals with. There has always been something odd about Baelish my prince. Something very odd. His rise was too quick and too sudden. I think Lysa Arryn knows him more than she is letting on.” Waymar says.

Joffrey looks at his friend and asks. “You think the two of them might be sleeping together?”

“I would not put it past them. They are both bold enough to think about doing it and thinking they might get away with it. Though whether they truly are or not is another matter.” Waymar replies.

Joffrey looks at his friend thoughtfully then and then says. “An interesting view Waymar. I am not sure whether I agree. Lysa Arryn has always been scared of her own shadow. This sudden braveness does not sound like her. It sounds like something Baelish would instigate. And that is something that worries me.”

“As well it should Your Grace. Baelish is a man who cannot be controlled. He is a man who breaks the chains society puts on him. Having him control the Vale through Lady Lysa, is something that cannot be allowed to happen. The lords will revolt, and whatever nonsense Lysa comes up with might well be something that is allowed to fester.” Waymar replies.

Joffrey considers this a moment and then says. “Indeed. I would not be surprised if she tries to name my family responsible for the death of her husband. Gods alone know she did not like my mother or my grandfather. There were so many rumours circling around about where Robert Arryn was going to be fostering, that perhaps one of them might hold a grain of truth.”

“A shame then that the only people who know that are either dead or fled. It would have been useful information to know.” Waymar Royce says.

“My uncle having left for Dragonstone the same time Jon Arryn fell ill? These are not coincidences. They were working on something, something I am not entirely sure I want to know about. Whatever it was, it was enough for someone to kill Jon Arryn for, and to make my uncle flee for his life. I must find out what it is.” Joffrey says.

“Pycelle might know my prince. That man knows almost everything that occurs in the Red Keep. After all we are all foolish enough to go to him and not Ebrose when we need help. That is something I have never understood.” Waymar says.

“Because Pycelle is my mother’s creature and so we are told to go to him so that he might report on us. It is something I have meant to change for a long time but never have had the power to do so.” Joffrey says.

“And now that you are four and ten you have more authority to make such moves. It will not be hard for you to either turn Pycelle into one of your own men or to scare off those little golden haired shits that follow you around everywhere my prince.” Waymar says.

Joffrey laughs. “Now won’t that be a relief. It will be something else to have other company around me other than the mere shits that my mother enforces on me. Perhaps this time my father might agree for some of the Stormlords to send their sons to court. That would make for a far more interesting sparring contest than with that shit Lancel. I cannot stand him.”

“Neither can I. How he was ever trusted with a sword I do not know. Perhaps he used his looks to get it.” Waymar japes.

“It’s because of that that is why. He has never worked for what we have. He has been given it because of his name. And I intend to teach him that there are some things in life that you must earn before you can boast about them.” Joffrey flexes one of his arms then, and as always takes some pleasure at watching Waymar’s eyes bulge at the sight of his muscle.

“What sort of lesson are you thinking my prince?” Waymar asks.

“The sort that shit will never forget. It is time he learned his place. And he shall learn it in the place where he claims to be the most proficient. Of course nothing too serious can happen to him now. Not before we leave for the north. We must keep him on edge.” Joffrey says.

Waymar grins then. “Most definitely my prince. Keeping him on edge would be just what I would do as well. Make him think something is going to happen to him, but never giving it away as to when it will happen. The man will be driving himself mad on the journey. And just when he thinks it is all over, the strike will come.”

“And when it does, he will know, truly know what it means to boast about things he does not understand.” Joffrey replies grinning, the anticipation of that moment filling him with joy.

“What will you do to him before then though my prince? There must be some sort of plan to ensure that he does not merely think you are joking?” Waymar asks.

Joffrey looks at his friend then and says slyly. “The man knows that there are things I know about him, which if revealed would make his life all the harder here. Taunting that and holding it in front of his face will be more than enough to set him on edge. It will be interesting to see how the boy reacts to it. Very interesting, should he falter, the others will falter, and my mother will not know whom to use.”

“That will be good as well, considering what she is likely to say about the journey to Winterfell as well. One cannot keep the queen’s views of things to heart, for she does not know her people and that will be her downfall.” Waymar responds sagely.

“What are you suggesting?” Joffrey asks intrigued.

“The Starks my prince. They are going to be the key for the moons to come. Your father will ride north soon to name Lord Eddard Stark hand of the king. That is a man whom you will want to know, whom you will want on your side. His two oldest sons Robb and Jon, why they would make very good allies or even servants for you as well. Having them on your side and paying them attention, more attention than your mother would want is a good thing. It will mean that you have the future lord of Winterfell and his brother on your side, ready to do what you want them to do.” Waymar says.

The mere thought of that is intoxicating for Joffrey, and yet there are some doubts. “How do I do that though? I have not done such a thing to someone not a Lannister before.”

“That is not true my prince. I am here am I not?” Waymar replies.

Joffrey looks at the man then and grins. “I suppose you are right. The Starks are people who respect power, well I have one of the most powerful positions in the kingdom. Perhaps it will be time to remind them of this. The bastard might be the first one to fall. He is a bastard after all.”

“Indeed my prince. He will be the one throwing himself at your feet. Show him what you mean, and what you want for him. Get to know him and he will be yours forever.” Waymar replies.

The mere thought of a Stark, even if it is a bastard being his servant is something Joffrey finds exciting. It fills him with a sort of anticipation that usually he only gets from going on the battle field. “You are right. And perhaps if the Stark siblings are close, then the heir will follow the bastard. A nice little dance for us to indulge in with the wolves. Let us see which one bites first.”

Waymar nods. “The King will look to betroth you to Stark’s daughter as well. To fulfil the pact that was supposed to be fulfilled with him and Stark’s sister. That will be another person you can use.”

Joffrey nods. “Very true. The girl, now the girl will be interesting. Very interesting, I do wonder whether she will put up a fight or not.” The mere thought excites him as well. The thought of the struggle before submission.

“It will be a glorious thing my prince. Having the Starks on your side, your own savages with which to use for whatever you see fit.” Waymar states.

“And they will have the same loyalty to me as Stark does to my father. It will be my own wolf pack. Something I can call upon. For there will be trouble soon. I can feel it.” Joffrey replies.

“Most definitely Your Grace.” Waymar replies.

Joffrey allows the conversation to fall into silence then as he thinks of wolves and their taming. He looks forward to going north now. Not only to see a man he has idolized since he was a small child, but also to begin the taming of the beasts of winter.


	2. Maester

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Maester wears many chains and faces

**4 th Month of 298 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Grand Maester Pycelle**

Jon Arryn was dead, Pycelle had seen his body on the pyre just as everyone else had, and he had felt a deep sense of relief at that. Jon Arryn had come too close to finding out the truth. The truth of what the Queen and her brother were doing, and had been doing for some time. Something that he had suspected would be the case with regards to whom their father was. He had just not thought other signs would be showing up so soon as well. That was worrying for him, very worrying. Everything else he could cover up, he had been doing that for the kings and his nephew for years. But there were certain other things he could not. And the queen was beginning to show signs of those inherent characteristics and that worried him. He did not know how long he could keep that from showing too evidently. And that was worrying for him, very worrying.

It was hard for him to keep this from showing on his face when speaking to the queen. “I am certain that no one else knows of what Jon Arryn was looking into.”

“You are certain? What of the woman and Baelish? Why were they so talkative the other day? And where has the woman gone?” the Queen asks.

“I do not know my queen. It is not beyond the realms of reason to think she has retreated to the Vale. There were whispers that I heard from Coleman that she was speaking with Baelish a few days before Jon Arryn fell ill. Something about crying.” Pycelle replies.

“Crying?” the queen asks. “What good is crying for me? I cannot use that against her. The woman is known for her tears, my husband will only believe she is crying over her husband’s death. No I need something more solid than that.”

Pycelle looks at the queen and then says. “I think that there might be something more to that than what you think my queen.”

“What do you mean? What more could there be?” The Queen asks.

Pycelle looks quickly around the room and then whispers. “There is a reason that the Lady Arryn was using the words crying. She cried into her husband’s drink. And there is only one reason why she would do that.”

Thank god the queen has some of her mother’s smartness, for she catches on quick enough. “You mean she poisoned her husband? Why in the name of the seven would she do that?”

“Because Jon Arryn was old enough to be her grandfather Your Grace. I think we all knew there was no love lost between them. The numerous stillbirths that the Lady Lysa had also put a strain on their relationship. And then finally there was Robert Arryn. Jon Arryn’s plans to foster the boy out with your father, would have caused all kinds of tension for the pair of them. Given how much distrust the lady had of you, she no doubt she thought she was doing herself and her son a favour.” Pycelle supplies.

The Queen’s eyes light up then and there is a dangerous glimmer to them. “Lysa Arryn poisoned her own husband? This is something that must be a gift from the seven. The woman has done the deed to protect her son from a fate that might well have suited her son, and now she has fled like a prisoner with something to hide. Excellent.”

“And Baelish my queen?” Pycelle prompts.

“Baelish?” the queen asks. “What about Baelish?”

“What role do you think he played in this?” Pycelle prompts.

It takes a moment but the queen smiles then and whispers. “He was the one who told her to do it. No wonder he has been so quiet recently, he knows that saying too much would give away his part in the plot. Brilliant. They have set themselves up for the perfect trap. But the question is why would Baelish do it? Jon Arryn gave him the power he now has. Jon Arryn is the reason he is here. His death means he must now rely on Robert and the Stark savage’s good will. And Stark will not be inclined to keep him on for much longer.”

“It is possible Baelish wanted the Lady Lysa to himself. We all know how close they were and Baelish boasted often enough of he had taken the Lady Lysa’s maidenhead when they were children. It is possible he has some sort of ulterior motive for this. Lady Lysa is now without a husband, and whoever marries her wields great power.” Pycelle supplies.

“And Baelish has always desired power. Perhaps more than he has desired the Tully sisters. Interesting, very interesting. The man has sown the seeds of his own downfall with this action.” The queen says.

“What do you mean Your Grace?” Pycelle asks. “Do you mean to act on this knowledge?”

The queen looks at him with the same contempt that her father once looked at him with. “Not immediately no. I am no fool Pycelle. There will come a time when Baelish needs my assistance or is trying to gain more favour with Stark, and that is when I shall strike. He will perish and so will his little organisations.”

Pycelle breathes a sigh of relief, he knows his nephew would not like it if they were to accelerate the process. “And what of Stark. Will you trust him Your Grace? Or will you not?”

“Stark is someone who I do not want here for long. He is a man whose honour will be the death of us all. There is time for right, and there is a time for wrong. And in King’s Landing one must learn that they are not necessarily as different as one might hope. Stark might not well realise this until it is too late.” The queen says.

Pycelle nods and then asks. “Stark will have the king’s full backing, and depending on what Lysa Arryn tells her sister, he might well suspect you had a part in Jon Arryn’s death. What will you do to stop that from growing?” he knows that it is impertinent to ask, and yet he knows that he must.

“If the woman is bold enough to dare accuse me through whatever means she has in that crazy little head of hers, I will counter act it.” the queen replies.

Pycelle wants to groan internally, instead he asks. “And how will you do that my queen?”

“You will aid me. When Stark comes here, set him by the wayside. Direct his attention to Baelish and his own goodsister. The less he suspects me the better.” The queen says.

Inside Pycelle groans, it is just like the Queen to ask him to do impossible things. “I will do my best my queen, but Stark will not be easily dissuaded if he thinks you behind his foster father’s death.”

“Then we must find a way to make him shake the course. He cannot go looking around things he does not understand. The future of this kingdom lies at stake. There is too much resting on Stark merely playing along for that to happen.” The queen fumes.

Pycelle can sense the dismissal coming, he knows the queen hungers for her brother, he can see it in the way she tenses and so he stands and bows. “I will see to it Your Grace. Have no worries.” The queen merely waves a hand dismissively, and so he straightens and walks out of the room merely nodding to Ser Jaime as he does so.

He walks on through the red keep, toward his room, deep in thought. There is much that will need to be done. He will need to speak to an old friend of his, they would need to make sure things were in order. They could not have Eddard Stark dying, he was too important a piece. There was much and more that needed to happen. It was going to be an interesting few moons, and no doubt the Queen would do something erratic. She always did. And that was what frustrated him about her. She could have been great but there is something wrong, something deeply wrong.

He opens the door to his rooms and is surprised by the sight that greets him. “Ah Grand Maester Pycelle, so nice of you to join us.” The deep voice of Prince Joffrey says, looming into focus. Pycelle walks into the room further and hears the door close behind him, Waymar Royce the crown prince’s shadow, and perhaps lover? Standing there guarding the door. The prince is tall, with dark blond hair, and blue eyes, muscular as well, to Pycelle’s eye he matches what the artists in Oldtown described Maegor the Cruel as looking. The crown prince’s voice is full of contempt. “Tell me maester, is it natural for all maesters to break their vows?”

“What? What do you mean?” Pycelle stammers, putting on the act he has perfected.

“The whores we found here beforehand. Do you always indulge in pleasures of the flesh? I thought you were meant to be celibate?” the crown prince asks.

“I….I... do not know what you mean, my prince. I am most devout to my vows.” Pycelle stammers, the act somewhat becoming a reality, he is starting to lose touch.

“Oh come now. Don’t you know it is a crime to lie to a prince of the blood Pycelle?” the crown prince says, stepping out of the dark and into Pycelle’s clear line of view, there is a look of pleasure on his face then. “You’ve served enough kings to know that. Now I will ask you again, why the whores?”

“For pleasure Your Grace…”Pycelle stammers, hoping the boy will buy the lie. “I am an old man, I get lonely.”

For a moment it seems as if the crown prince has bought it, he looks hesitant, and then his face twists into a sly grin. “You may stop the act now Pycelle. I know you are not the feeble old man you pretend to be.”

Pycelle looks at the crown prince and sees the truth written across his face. Sighing he straightens his shoulders and deepens his voice to its natural tone. “Why thank you Your Grace. It was getting quite tiring I must say. Now tell me what do you want?”

The crown prince looks at him a long moment and then says. “You work for my family do you not Pycelle?”

“Well of course my prince I am grand maester. Who else would I work for?” he jokes.

The crown prince does not smile at the jape. “My grandfather. I know you do Pycelle, it is written all over your face.”

Pycelle merely looks at the crown prince, his mind whirring, what does the boy want? He remains silent.

“What did my mother want with you?” the crown prince asks. “Was it to do with Jon Arryn’s death?”

“It might have been.” Pycelle replies.

“Why? Why is so interested in that? Did she have a hand in it?” the crown prince asks.

“She did not my prince. But there are many people who would like certain others to think that she did.” Pycelle replies cautiously, he knows of Prince Joffrey’s temper and does not want to provoke it.

Still the crown prince’s eyes flash then and he advances toward Pycelle and puts his hands on Pycelle’s shoulders, the sheer force of strength in his grip causes Pycelle to buckle slightly. “You mean Stark don’t you? Someone wants Stark to think my mother had a hand in whatever it was that brought about Jon Arryn’s death. Whatever evidence that Arryn was looking into that might suggest my mother, I want it burned, all of it burned. There is to be nothing of it left. And whatever else you find you tell me, not my mother do you understand?”

Pycelle knows this is not a request. “I understand my prince.”

The pressure increases slightly. “Good. You work for me now. Not my grandfather, you are mine now.” The prince says.

“Yes Your Grace.” Pycelle says, internally though his mind is racing there will be all kinds of trouble from this. He will need to consider his options.

As if he can read his thoughts the crown prince says. “If you even think of telling my mother or grandfather about this, I will know, and I will come here and geld you next time you are with your whores.”

Something in Pycelle jolts at that, a shiver runs through him. “Yes my prince.”

The pressure on his shoulders relents. “Good.” With that the prince pushes past him and walks out of his room.

Pycelle is left there staring at his hands which are shaking. He will have to tell Lord Tywin about this now. There is too much happening.


	3. The Prince

**4 th Month of 298 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Prince Joffrey Baratheon**

Pycelle was a character, a character whom Joffrey was determined to have on his side. The man might appear to be a dithering fool, but there was a smartness to him, a smartness Joffrey intended to use to his benefit. Of course there was a problem with the fact the man was loyal to his grandfather. Joffrey would not accept the man being loyal to anyone else but him. And yet he was not quite sure how to undo what was clearly years of loyalty. Why the maester was so loyal to his grandfather Joffrey did not know, but that was something he was determined to find out more of. He would need to use that knowledge at some stage, and he was determined to ensure that he was the only one who had Pycelle’s loyalty, for there would be a time it would be needed he knew it.

It seemed it was a view that Waymar shared. As he looked at his friend he asked him. “What did you make of our conversation with dear old Pycelle?”

His friend looks at him and then says. “I think it was interesting. The man most certainly is a good actor. That old man dithering routine he has going on most certainly could be shown as convincing. But there was something odd about him after you mentioned the whores.”

“How do you mean?” Joffrey asks.

“I think one of those whores that we saw leave his room means more to him than he let on. I think one of them is an interest to him, and he does not want her hurt.” Waymar responds.

Joffrey looks at his friend. “Hmm. So do you think the way to get Pycelle to do my will is through using that girl? Which one was it?”

“I think it was the one with dark brown hair. There seemed to be some great reluctance in her person to leave. And it seemed that Pycelle most definitely did not want her to leave. Almost as if he feared what might happen to her should she leave.” Waymar replies.

Joffrey considers this a moment and then says. “I want names. I want the names of the girls Pycelle sleeps with and I want to know where he gets them from. The moment I know that information, is the moment I have control over him. For I could well use that to bring him crumbling down. But then again the citadel being the sheep they are might name Ebrose to the small council. And that is something no one wants.”

“Very true my prince. Do you know where Ebrose is from? I swear each time I speak to him his accent changes. It is almost as if he is trying to conceal his true identity.” Waymar asks.

“I spoke to one or two people who attend Ebrose and they say that he comes from somewhere in the Reach. Where they did not know precisely. But it would not surprise me if he was some sort of Tyrell or Hightower puppet. They have far too much power and influence in the citadel.” Joffrey responds.

“That is of course something that could benefit your uncle Renly as well should he chose to act.” Waymar says.

Joffrey snorts. “Renly acting? I do not think so. He will not do it of his own volition, he prefers his comfort to chaos. No if anyone is to force my ponce of an uncle’s hand it is likely to be that flower he is fucking. And even then that flower will only do it if the other flowers do so as well.”

“I sense you have a plan on dealing with that then?” Waymar asks.

Joffrey looks at his friend and smiles. “I do. I do intend to speak to the Tyrells at some point or the other. Either a marriage proposal or some such. Renly has no heir, and as such Tommen will more than likely be named his heir. That is one way in which I could extend my control, and another way to get my brother out of my mother’s control.”

“A wise move Your Grace. The more people who are under your control then the smoother your ascension to the throne shall be.” Waymar says.

Joffrey nods and then says. “How much do you think Pycelle knows about what happened to Jon Arryn?”

“I think he knows more than he is letting. There is something, something that drove Jon Arryn into knowing more about the heritage about the families. Something, something that someone did not want him finding out. And whatever it was, it was enough for someone to kill for.” Waymar says.

“Indeed and whatever it was, or rather it is, I intend to find it. Already the lords of the vale seem to have become discontent with my father’s decision to name my uncle Jaime as Warden of the East. A move my mother undoubtedly convinced him to make.” Joffrey says.

“A move that could well hamper your plans my prince. Lysa Arryn has fled to the Vale, and whatever nonsense she is being told to tell everyone in the Vale by that rat Baelish, is something that no doubt costing you the ability to bring them under your sphere. Something needs to be changed in order for your transition to be easier.” Waymar says.

“Most definitely.” Joffrey agrees. “Perhaps my father can be convinced to name Robert Arryn Warden of the East, or if not him perhaps Harrold Hardying. The boy is Robert’s heir is he not?”

“He is indeed. Are you suggesting that Harrold be named the warden in preparation for the ascension? After all from what I have been told he is quite charming and supposedly reminds my father of Jon Arryn when he was a lad. It could be quite the move my prince.” Waymar says.

Joffrey grins. “I will mention it when I meet with my father.” After that the conversation stops and they indulge in a bit of lunch. The food tastes most exquisite, though Joffrey does have to wonder if this is his mother’s attempt at placating him after their argument the other day. If it is, he might have to reconsider such things. Once they have finished eating Joffrey dismisses Waymar and then prepares himself for his meeting with his father. Once he feels he is suitably prepared he stands and walks out of his room, the Hound following at his heels. They walk in silence until Joffrey reaches his father’s chambers. Ser Barristan stands guard outside and nods as Joffrey enters.

For once his father is not drunk, and instead seems relatively sober. “Ah Joffrey, good you are here. Come sit down.”

Joffrey takes the offered seat and sits down opposite his father. His father, the Demon of the Trident is not as muscular as he once was, parts of his body have turned to fat, but he is still well toned. Still an intimidating man. Joffrey has looked up to his father his whole life, and has striven to be something his father would be proud of. He looks at his father and asks. “What did you wish to speak to me about Your Grace?”

His father is silent a moment and then says. “As I am sure you are aware, we shall be heading to Winterfell shortly. It has been too long since last I met Lord Eddard and his wife, and it is time you had some friends who were not Lannisters or the Royce boy. If you have any questions about the Starks now is the time to ask them. For I do not think your mother will know much of anything.”

Joffrey considers this statement and then asks. “Is Lord Eddard truly as you described him father? Is he truly as honourable and noble?”

His father smiles. “Indeed he is. Ned always did take Jon’s lessons to heart. I do not think you could meet a more honourable or noble person than Eddard Stark. And that is something that I am proud of. Having such a man as a friend is more important than gold son, remember that. Gold might buy you allies, but having men such as Ned on your side means that the truthful and the brave will always follow you.”

Joffrey nods and then asks. “What of Lady Stark? What is she like father?”

“Ah Cat,” his father says his tone somewhat far away. “She is the perfect lady. Kind and courteous with a wry sense of humour. Most definitely a lovely lady.”

Joffrey nods that will be important when the time comes. “And do you know much of their children?”

“Their children? I do not think so. But do not take into consideration whatever nonsense your mother tells you as we leave for Winterfell. Your mother is someone prone to bias when that person she speaks of is not a Lannister.” His father says.

“Of course father.” Joffrey replies.

“Why all the questions anyway lad?” his father asks.

Joffrey looks at his father and sees genuine concern there. He takes a deep breath and then says. “I am curious is all. The Starks have been these people I have always heard about. I want to make a good impression on them.”

His father’s face softens. “I am sure you will son. You are a good man, and will make a good king when your time comes.” There is an awkward moment’s silence and then his father says. “There was another reason why I asked you here. I want your opinion on the decision to name your uncle as Warden of the East.”

Joffrey looks at his father a moment, considering the question. Eventually after much thought he says. “I think it is a mistake.”

“And why do you think that?” his father asks.

“Because Uncle Jaime, is a Lannister, and the lords of the Vale will never respect a Lannister. He is an outsider and they will not respect him should war come. That is why you named him as Warden of the East is it not? Because of the Targaryens?” Joffrey responds.

His father seems to be taking what he has said into consideration. “Hmm, Jaime is a good warrior and a battle commander. Furthermore naming him warden kept your mother happy and it also got Tywin Lannister away from trying to remove him from the Kingsguard. And yes the Targaryens are an issue. The boy is not old enough to command men, and there would all sorts of bickering if it were to go to someone in the Vale. I will not allow that. Jon would not want that.”

Joffrey considers this and then says. “There is someone in the Vale that might make the decision easier for the lords of the Vale to accept. A man who has shown himself to be a warrior and is liked in the Vale.”

His father looks at him in question. “Who is this fellow?”

“Harrold Hardying father. He is Lord Robert’s cousin and his heir. He is a man grown and has shown himself to be good with a sword. And from what Waymar tells me he is well liked in the Vale.” Joffrey says.

“Harrold Hardying? You mean Yohn’s squire?” his father asks.

“Yes father him.” Joffrey says.

“He has not been knighted yet has he?” his father asks.

“I do not think so. But if you were to invite him here and knight him yourself then that would give him the chance to gain more prestige, and also mean that he owes you everything. Naming him Warden of the East would give the lords of the Vale someone to rally around, someone whom they like, someone whom they can relate to. It also means that is one more thing that could annoy grandfather, and I know how much that would please you.” Joffre says.

His father considers this a moment and then says. “I will consider it lad. It would be amusing to see the look on your mother and uncle’s face. Very amusing.”


	4. Young Stag

****

**4 th Month of 298 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Lord Renly Baratheon**

King’s Landing a place that often brought about bad things to those who did not know how to play the game by its rules. Renly had often wondered if that was why his mother and father had died, because they had not known how to make the mad king chose someone else. It was a thought that often ailed him and at the same time had also made him determined not to fall to the trap. He had learned the game, and he had learned it well, he knew people, he knew what made them tick and what made them angry. He would be the one to keep the kingdom running. If his brother was fool enough to refuse Margaery he would take her and his brother would go. Such a thought was not one he truly wanted to entertain but it was one that seemed to be increasingly relevant. There was too much Lannister presence and Robert did not seem to want to do anything about it.

As if sensing his thoughts Loras looks up at him and asks. “What’s bothering you my love? You seem awfully tense.”

Renly looks at his love, his everything and says. “I am not sure I like this visit my brother is making. It is too sudden and there has been not enough thought put into it.”

His lover snorts. “I do not think the king ever thinks things through. Otherwise he would have realised just how dangerous it was leaving so many Lannisters around. Indeed there would not be so many Lannisters around had he the sense you have.”

He feels Loras kiss his chest, and hums contentedly. “I think you are right my love. And yet Robert is someone who gives into his impulses, it seems to be a family trait. And it seems that it is one I have inherited. Nonetheless, there is something about this visit that worries me.”

“Why? What do you think will happen? The king will name Stark hand, though really it should be you. But what else could he do?” Loras asks.

Renly looks at his lover and sighs. “It is the fact Stark might well come south that worries me. Should Stark come south my brother will be more apt to listen to him. And therefore our plans will come undone.”

“You think Stark would try and stand in the way of our plans? He would not dare would he?” Loras asks.

Renly sighs. “I do not know truth be told. It has been years since I last saw Stark. But from what I remember of him, his honour dictated everything he did. Which makes me wonder about his bastard. But that is neither here nor there. We must win him onside. And that will not be an easy task.”

Loras looks at him. “How do you mean? How would it not be an easy task for you my love? No one who has met you could possibly say no to you.”

Renly laughs slightly. “Oh Loras, not everyone is as easy to talk to as you are. Nor as they as beautiful. There are certain charms one must use for a lover, and an entirely different set of charms for a political ally. That is what I mean. I do not think Stark knows how to play the game, he will be eaten alive.”

“Well you can be his ally. I am sure he will be itching for one such as you to support him. Particularly if he suspects the Lannisters for Arryn’s death. And truth be told who would not? He was looking into something or the other was he not?” Loras states.

Renly keeps his mouth shut at this. Loras does not know just how close Jon Arryn came to discovering them, nor about the boy that sits in the smith’s, a boy that Renly knows of and has tried to care for. And then there are those other things, things he does not want anyone knowing. After a moment when he realises how odd it would be if he did not reply, he says. “Indeed he was. Perhaps that book he mentioned might be something useful to give to Stark.”

Loras groans. “That damned book is more than likely going to bore him to death. Don’t give him that.”

Renly is silent, there is something odd about the book, and it does not clearly state what happened last time a living child was produced from a Baratheon Lannister union, apart from Joffrey. He wonders. “Aye, the book might bore him, but it is necessary. Stark must be on board, or Robert might need to go.”

“You would make a far better king than Robert or any child he could sire.” Loras says. “Just look at Joffrey a monster with more cunning than any boy his age should have.”

“That is no doubt his mother’s influence. Anyone who has Cersei Lannister as a mother would end up like that. I mean Myrcella and Tommen are somewhat better but still they are clearly their mother’s children. I feel sorry for them.” Renly replies.

“What will you do when Robert marries my sister? What will become of them?” Loras asks.

This is a question that has been bothering him for many moons now. After much consideration he says. “Joffrey will need to die, he is too much of a threat. Tommen and Myrcella can be given to the citadel and the faith respectively. Away from those who might seek to use them. We will need proof for this, or we might well need none if Cersei is shown to be a threat.” How he does not know.

Loras nods. “And if Robert does not accept my sister?”

“Cersei will no doubt have him killed by year’s end. She wants her chance at power. Perhaps it might be easier to allow that.” Renly ponders.

“You would allow that?” Loras asks.

“If it meant protecting those I cared about, then yes. None wants Cersei in charge, and the only way for us to be safe, is if I wear the crown. Should Robert not go for our plan, then I will. I will sit the throne before long.” Renly says.

His lover looks at him with heated eyes and says. “And House Tyrell will stand behind you.” With that they give themselves over to their lovemaking. Passionate and intense as always.


	5. Iron

**5 th Month of 298 A.C. Pyke**

**Lord Balon Greyjoy**

The Greenlanders did not understand the old way, they did not understand the islands. They wanted the islanders to conform and be to kneelers, but the Ironborn would never kneel to a man who did not know the feel of a ship. It was not right, it broke everything they stood for, and Balon was determined to never do that again. It had been different when the dragons had ruled, for they had known what it was to fight, the Greenlanders were just men in skirts really. They never fought and never did anything. Balon was going to teach them a lesson, he truly would. This time there would be no stopping him, the empire would return and this time, it would hold. Baratheon and Stark would not stop him, they would never dream of stopping him now.

Balon looked at his brothers and his daughter, whom he had called here to meet with him. They were all loyal and Iron to the core, there was no green in their blood. Aeron might have given himself to the extremities of the drowned god, but better that than the mad man he had been before. And Victarion, Victarion was the loyal solider, the man who would bring the dreams to life. Asha was his heir, for now. She was his pride but he needed his son back. He swallowed and then says. “You all know why we are here. Jon Arryn is dead. The thing that kept Robert Baratheon on a leash is dead. Soon enough he will look toward us.”

His daughter asks. “Would he truly though? Baratheon does not seem like the type of person to provoke conflict, why would he do it now?”

“Because Jon Arryn was the one thing keeping him at bay.” Balon says. “The storm god has killed Jon Arryn and now Robert will look to finish what he started we must be prepared for when that day comes.”

“What would you have us do?” his daughter asks.

Balon looks at his daughter and says. “What you have been doing since you were old enough to fight. Prepare your ships and your men. Ready yourselves for the storm is coming, and this time I intend to be completely ready for it. Baratheon and his dog Stark will not stand a chance.”

“The Iron Fleet will be ready for your order brother.” Victarion his ever dutiful brother says. “We shall show Baratheon what it means to fight on the seas.”

“And this time there will be no puppet of the Storm God to dissuade our ships from striking true.” Aeron says.

“Indeed. With Euron gone there is no need to believe that something will go wrong. Indeed this time, we have more strength and greater readiness now than we did nine years ago. With the luck of the Drowned God our aim shall be true.” Balon says.

His brother speaks then. “The Drowned God stays true to those who are true to him. We have been nothing but true to him, and have always been so, despite the fact that a godless man once lived amongst us.”

Balon nods but before he can speak, Victarion growls. “Euron will dare to show his face again. I know he will. There will come a time when we are all busy doing something else, and he will come back. And gods alone knows what sorcery he would bring with him.”

“Euron will not come back here so long as I live. The man is not so much of an idiot to break our rules. Not twice at least.” Balon says. “Though just to make sure, I will ensure that there are things put in place to prevent him from gaining some sort of power.”

“Will you come with us when we sail for the Greenlands father?” his daughter asks.

Balon looks at her and says. “I will. The mistake was made nine years ago that I did not sail. This time that shall not happen. I am not some frightened old man to remain in my castle whilst others fight for me. I shall lead my men and we shall win. The Drowned God is with us.”

His daughter looks at him a long moment and then asks. “Where will we go first father? There are many places. We could go to the Westerlands and hit the Rock, or we could go for the Shield Islands and the Arbor. Or we could go for the Riverlands.”

Balon looks at his daughter a long moment before saying. “The Westerlands are too much of a risk. Tywin Lannister is not a man to allow himself to be fooled twice. He will no doubt have men stationed and ships stationed waiting and watching for us. The Reach and the Riverlands are tempting targets, especially if what our men say is true. But no, we shall head for the north first. You shall take Bear Island and make it the first part of our empire. From there we shall move toward the Arbor and the Riverlands.”

His daughter nods, and Victarion says. “A good plan my lord. A very good plan. The attack on Bear Island will distract the northmen for a time, and will also mean that the stag king looks toward aiding his old friend.”

Asha asks. “Will this not put Theon in danger? He is your heir after all father.”

Balon looks at his daughter and merely says. “Theon will be gone from Winterfell by the time the attack on Bear Island happens.”

“How?” his daughter asks.

“The Cleftjaw and some of our old friends shall be doing the business for us. Theon will be out of there and back home by the time you attack that island.” Balon says confidently.

His daughter looks sceptical but does not say anything in response to that. Instead she asks. “When will we strike?”

Balon considers this a moment and then looking at his brother says. “When the Drowned God shows favour to us. In five moons time, when the waters are at their highest peak, and Nagga roars from the sea.”

“A good time to attack my lord.” Aeron says.

“What is Dead May Never Die.” Balon says simply.


	6. Bastard

**5 th Month of 298 A.C. Winterfell**

**Jon Snow**

The royal court had come to Winterfell and as such Jon was not sure what to make of them. The king was a disappointment in some regards, but in others he was not. He was a warrior alright, though his body seemed to be rebelling against his inclinations. As for the queen she appeared cold and uncaring, her disdain for the north was evident on her face and Jon despised her for it. The crown prince was someone that Jon was not sure what to make of. He held himself in a particular way that reminded Jon somewhat of his own father, the burden of the world but also a deeper understanding of the subtleties of the world. The other two Jon did not know, and did not want to know.

Then there was the crown prince’s friend/ squire, Ser Waymar Royce. Royce was a man Jon knew somewhat, more from the tales his family had told them than from actually meeting him. And so it was a surprise that the man wished to speak with him. “Tell me Jon, how are things in Winterfell for you?” Waymar asks.

“They are good. As good as can be for a man of my position.” Jon replies truthfully.

The knight nods and then asks. “Have you ever thought of what you wanted to do outside of Winterfell?”

Jon looks at the man and considers his question. “I have not truth be told. At certain points I have wished to join the Watch and at others I have wished to do something else. Right now I do not know.”

“Interesting, very interesting. There is honour in the watch, and yet would you really want to spend all your life up at the wall freezing?” the knight asks.

Jon is not sure what it is about the knight, but he finds himself telling the man more about him than he has ever told anyone else. “I do not know. I want to make something of myself. Something that will allow me to feel like I am doing something with my life instead of merely hanging onto my brother.”

The knight nods in understanding. “I can understand that Jon. Being a third son, there are not many opportunities for me as well. And yet I have found my place by Prince Joffrey’s side. He is good to me and has given me a chance to live my own life.”

Jon feels something of a kinship with the Royce knight. “I can understand ser. What is Prince Joffrey like? Forgive me for asking, but he seems cold and distant.”

“There is nothing to forgive Jon. The crown prince, is a man who knows what he wants. And if you are someone who is good and honourable he will reward you with what you want. He knows how to reward loyalty.” The knight says.

Jon finds himself strangely attracted to the thought. “He is not too harsh a master? I have heard word that his mother can be.” Jon asks trying to keep his voice casual.

The knight is silent a moment, seemingly considering his answer. Jon wonders if this is a good thing or a bad thing. “I will say this. The crown prince might be compared to his father a lot, and in some aspects it is true. He does like to fight, but what man does not? But he has a sense of right and wrong that neither his father nor his mother have. He is his own man.”

Jon looks at the man unsure of what to make of that. “What do you mean?” he asks.

“I mean that, he has his own wants and needs. But is a good person. He is someone you would want to know.” The knight says. “But enough about the crown prince. Tell me more about you Jon. Our fathers are friends, it is only right that we try to develop something similar.”

Jon hesitates for a moment and then says. “I do not know what to say Ser. There is not much to me, you would find Robb a more interesting conversation.”

“Nonsense.” Ser Waymar says waving his hand dismissively. “Yes your brother is the heir to Winterfell, but I have heard the stories of what heirs get up to many times over. I want to know what you get up to and what sort of things you like and dislike.”

Jon is surprised by this, no one has ever truly tried to speak with him. Not when Robb has been around to speak with. And so he finds himself asking not for the first time. “Why?”

“Why what?” the knight asks.

“Why do you wish to speak with me?” Jon replies.

The knight sighs and replies. “Because, as I have already said, I am interested in getting to know you. We share a kinship Jon. And I believe it is only right that we get to know one another.”

Jon finds himself surprised by this and uncertain of how to answer and so he says the first thing that comes into his head. “I do like fighting as you said what man does not. And I am a better swordsman than Robb.”

Waymar smiles. “What do you prefer? A longsword or a short sword?”

“I have not used live steel before.” Jon admits. “Father says we can use live steel when we are older.”

Waymar looks surprised. “So you have only used wooden practice swords?”

“Mostly yes.” Jon replies.

“Surely your father can see how silly that is? You are a man grown and should be fighting with live steel!” Waymar says.

“I know, and Robb and I have argued for it many times, and yet father always insists on using wooden swords. I do not know why.” Jon says.

“Hmmm.” Waymar says thoughtfully. “That might be understandable if you were children. But we are not are we? We are men grown and as such the time for such toys is over. Winter is Coming as you Starks are so fond of saying and we must all be prepared for it. I shall speak to Prince Joffrey when I next have the chance.”

This surprises Jon. “Why?” he asks alarmed.

“Because it is not right that you and your brother are denied the chance to spar with live steel. Prince Joffrey can change that.” Waymar responds.

“It is no issue. Truly Ser, you do not need to do that.” Jon says feebly.

“Call me Waymar.” The knight says. “And yes it is necessary. You are not a boy anymore are you?” Jon shakes his head. “You are a man. And a man must be able to fight with live steel.”

“But what if my father refuses?” Jon asks hating how weak his voice sounds.

Waymar snorts dismissively. “Prince Joffrey is heir to the iron throne. I do not think your father would overrule him if asked.”

“Are you sure. I do not want to cause any trouble.” Jon says weakly.

“Nonsense. You are not causing any trouble. It is something I know the prince will agree with when he hears it.” Waymar replies.

Jon looks at the man and asks. “When do you think you will be able to ask?”

“I can ask him now if you wish? And it might well be that next time you are in the sparring yard, you spar with live steel.” The knight replies.

Jon looks at the man and considers his options for a moment and then deciding to take a leap into the dark says. “Very well then.”

 


	7. A Crowned Stag

**5 th month of 298 A.C. Winterfell**

**Prince Joffrey Baratheon**

The journey to Winterfell had been a long one. His mother had demanded that she and his sister and brother travel in that damned wheelhouse. That had slowed them down a fair bit and it had been aggravating. Joffrey had agreed with his father when his father had muttered that they needed to get a move on. He despised being slow, it was not a good quality to have, not whilst travelling and not whilst speaking. If one were playing the game, then yes being slow was fine, but in all else it was not. His mother did not realise that, and that was why he spent barely anytime with her. As for Winterfell and the Starks themselves, well they were somewhat he had expected. Winterfell was grand. The Starks were frozen yes, but there was a sense he got from them that there was more to them. He was determined to find out more about them and use what he found to his advantage.

That was why he was currently walking and talking with Robb Stark the heir to Winterfell. Robb was an interesting person. Joffrey got the sense that he was used to being the hero and that he was used to having things his way. And yet there was a sense that he wanted to be accepted and approved. Joffrey was going to use that, he allowed Robb to speak first. “So tell me my prince, how was your journey to Winterfell?”

Joffrey takes his time to reply, noticing the slight opening in Robb’s mouth as he waits, there is some sort of passing attraction he finds in that, but he ignores it. “It was long. Quite long, but it seems it was worth it. Winterfell is a place of legend and I feel privileged to be here.”

He sees the lad’s chest puff out and finds himself wondering what it would look like under his gaze. He shakes his head, just as Robb responds. “I am glad my prince. I know the journey can be long and tiresome. But I am happy to know that you are feeling okay being here. I hope you are not too tired?”

Joffrey wants to say something lewd but keeps it under wraps, it would not do to say such a thing. “Not at all. I am excited to be here. My father has often spoken of Winterfell, and I am curious to explore all of it.”

Robb smiles. “That is good my prince. For there is much and more for me to show you in Winterfell. It is a big and old castle, with many secrets that are worth showing one such as yourself.”

Joffrey smiles and says. “I look forward to seeing them. So tell me Robb, what things do you get up to usually?”

The heir to Winterfell’s face scrunches up in concentration and Joffrey finds it somewhat endearing. He pushes those thoughts from his mind though as Robb says. “Normally, I have lessons with maester Luwin, Jon and Theon join me. And then it is usually learning from my father, and seeing how he acts as Lord of Winterfell. And then there are those times myself, Jon and Theon spar in the yard.”

“So not too different to myself then. That is good. I did not wish for things to be too strange if there was nothing for us to talk about.” Joffrey says, before realising what he has said. “Forgive me, I did not mean to say such a thing and have it sound rude.”

The heir to Winterfell merely smiles. “It is alright my prince. It is a true question. I am glad as well, for it means that there is nothing awkward about this conversation.”

Joffrey nods and then to move the conversation onward he asks. “So tell me Robb, what sort of weapons do you prefer?”

The heir to Winterfell is silent a moment and then replies. “The sword most definitely. The sword gives more balance and opportunity to the wielder. A bow and arrow requires good aim yes, but there is not much more to it. Archers are cowards. As for the Morningstar, it is a weapon that has brutal effects for both wielder and opponent. And the Warhammer is too heavy a weapon to be used effectively. Yourself my prince?”

Joffrey considers for a moment and then replies. “The sword most definitely. For as you said, it provides the greatest level of opportunities for the wielder. It is also a weapon that is more profound in its impact. It is the weapon of men of culture and honour, not savages.”

The heir to Winterfell nods and then says. “The sword is a weapon that all men with any sense would use. It is the quickest and most lethal way especially if one is good with the weapon. A true warrior never needs to resort to all out violence that a Morningstar or a Warhammer bring.”

Joffrey nods. “I agree. Have you ever wielded live steel before Robb?”

The heir to Winterfell is silent a long moment and then replies. “I have not no.”

Joffrey is surprised by this. He had thought considering the build of the Stark heir that Robb would have been fighting with live steel for a good few years. “Why ever not?” he asks.

Robb looks somewhat sheepish when he replies. “It seems my father does not wish for myself or Jon to practice with potentially fatal weaponry.”

Joffrey is surprised by this. “Surely he realises you are not boys anymore? Surely he knows that it is important for the future lord of Winterfell to be able to practice with live steel so that should war ever come he is not exposed?”

He is playing on the boy’s pride here, and he suspects he has done the job when the boy replies. “That is what I have said to father as well! But he insists that such a thing will not be coming for a long time. And that when I and Jon are men grown only then can we learn how to fight with live steel.”

Joffrey shakes his head in mock disbelief, silently he knows that this is one way to get to Robb Stark. “I do not agree with your father but I suppose we shall have to respect his wishes.”

As he suspects Robb seems to bristle slightly. “If… no, no you would not do that would you?”

Joffrey pretends to be confused. “Not do what?”

“I…if you were to ask to spar with live steel, then surely father would be okay with allowing it?” the heir to Winterfell asks.

Joffrey pretends to be considering the suggestion, when in actuality he has already decided what his response will be. “Well if it is something you want, then I will ask.”

Before Robb can respond, Joffrey sees Waymar approaching with the bastard boy Jon, the man’s wolf following. “Your Grace, ah so glad we managed to catch you. I have come because of something I think most unfounded.”

Joffrey hides his amusement. “And pray tell what this is Waymar?”

“Did you know Jon here has never sparred with live steel before?” his friend asks.

“I did not. Though Robb was just telling me that he too had not.” Joffrey replies.

The bastard speaks then. “We have not because our father does not believe it is right for us to do so just yet.”

Joffrey looks at Jon Snow and sees that he looks just like his father. “Well surely it is something that every man needs to know. We are not children anymore, it is time we knew how to fight. Surely you can agree with that?”

The bastard is silent a moment and then Robb says. “You know his grace is right Jon. We need to know how to fight with live steel. Winter is Coming.”

Joffrey looks at the bastard a moment and sees with some satisfaction that he seems to admit defeat. “I agree. But how will you convince father Your Grace? He has refused all of our pleas.”

Joffrey smiles then and says. “Ah but you are not a prince. I am. And though I respect your father, he must know how foolish he is being. Live steel is something that takes years to get good at. And as your own house words say, winter is coming.” Turning to Robb he asks. “Do you know where your father is?”

Robb’s face is scrunched in concentration and Joffrey once more cannot help but think how cute he looks like that. He pushes the thought down, when Robb replies. “I believe he and the king would have just left the crypts now. We can go there.”

And so they leave from where they are and head toward where the crypts are. Sure enough they find Joffrey’s father and Lord Stark coming out of the crypts, both looking somewhat deep in thought. It is his father who speaks first. “Joffrey, son, what are you doing here?”

Joffrey takes a breath and then says. “We have come here with a request for Lord Stark.”

His father chuckles. “See, I told you they would become as thick as thieves quickly Ned.”

“What is your request my prince?” Lord Stark asks solemnly.

Joffrey looks at the man he has looked up to for a very long time and says. “I wish to spar with your sons using live steel. I have been fighting with live steel for a year now, and I know that Robb and Jon have not. But we are nearly men grown and it is time for us to fight as such.”

Silence follows this statement, and then Joffrey’s father says. “Your sons do not fight with live steel Ned? By the gods man why not?”

Lord Stark’s face is grim when he replies. “Because it is too soon for them to know. We are not preparing for a war. There is no point in teaching them something that is meant only for killing.”

Before Joffrey can speak his father booms. “Gods Ned, we were fighting with live steel when we were their age. Surely it is not such a daft thing to think. They are boys who will soon become men. They must know for their own skill to develop surely?”

Lord Stark holds firm. “It is too dangerous. They do not have the proper training. They would only hurt themselves.”

“We learned by hurting ourselves Ned!” the king booms. “By the gods man, we came away better men because of the bruises and scars we got at their age. Surely you remember that?”

Lord Stark’s face is solemn. “I remember the pain and the hurt of knowing what those lessons taught me. War is not a game.”

“This is not a war Ned. This is boys learning to become men and all it entails.” His father booms.

Lord Stark is silent a long time before he says. “I will not permit it. I will not allow my sons to learn something some men do not learn until they are of age.”

Joffrey speaks then. “My Lord Stark, I respect your opinion truly I do. But I have to say this. Your sons are not just some men, they are your sons. One is the heir to Winterfell, the other is his half-brother. Their mere birth dictates they learn how to defend themselves properly. And that means using live steel. Would you rather they be defenceless should the seven forbid such a situation arise? Would you rather they know how to fight for themselves and their family should you not be here to defend them? Or would you rather they die because they are not used to steel?”

Lord Stark is silent a moment, and before he speaks Joffrey hears his father say. “You know what my son is saying is true Ned. That is the same reason Jon had us taught to use live steel at the same age.”

Eventually Stark sighs and says. “Very well they may use live steel but Ser Rodrik and two of the Kingsguard shall supervise the sparring at every time agreed Robert?”

His father nods. “Agreed.”

Joffrey feels a sense of triumph as he looks at the two Stark boys and sees something akin to admiration in their eyes. His plan has begun.


	8. Darkness Descends

**5 th Month of 298 A.C. Silence**

**Euron Greyjoy**

Exile, his brother had exiled him. For a crime that had been committed on the Grey Kings orders. It made for some interesting conversation, and the woman had tasted so sweet, as very sweet as he had fucked her. She had wanted it, he had seen it in her eyes. He had seen it in the way her legs had trembled as he had fucked her. It was something that he had enjoyed and she had enjoyed. And yet his idiot of a brother had not known that, his brother was too much of a warrior to truly understand what it meant to be a person, a true person. It made no matter though sooner or later he would realise and by then it would be too late.

The Silence had become his home and it was a home he cherished. Something that he had not known since he was a little boy. There were all sorts on his ship, mutes, warlocks and whores. It was the warlocks that he sought council from now. “Tell me, what do your scrolls say? Shall Asshai be the next destination or Volantis?”

“Asshai Your Grace. That is the place where you shall find the answers you are looking for.” The warlock with the green eyes replied.

“And why is Asshai better for what I want answers for? Volantis has lore there does it not?” Euron asks his voice deceptively soft.

The warlock with the green eyes looks nervous before replying. “Because the fire is strong there. Volantis has too much corruption. There is not enough purity for what you seek.”

Euron strokes his beard then and says. “Interesting. Interesting that you should say that. After all Dorgor here says that Volantis is the place where the most knowledge is, and yet Asshai is the place where you all want me to go. Tell me is that true?”

The green eyed warlock looks worried then and Euron grins. “No... Of course not Your Grace. Dorgor is a mad man someone whom we do not even trust. Trust me when I say that Asshai is the place you wish to go.”

“Trust.” Euron purrs. “Interesting that you should mention trust. I do not trust you, and yet you have not proven to be wrong once. And yet something in my head tells me you are. And I do not like being lied to. Come here warlock.”

 The Warlock walks toward him nervously. When he stops before him, Euron looks at him and smiles. “You see, when I was a little boy, my father beat me for lying. He told me that if I continued lying he would cut out my tongue, and so for as long as my father lived I never told another lie to him. And yet I lied all the time to others. I know a liar when I see one.” He pulls his dagger and thrusts it into the warlock’s eye. As the man staggers around the small room, Euron says. “And you are lying to me. Dogret,” he calls out and a giant of a man walks forward from the shadows. “Dinner.”

The giant carries the warlock kicking and screaming from the room and Euron turns his attention back to the Warlocks. “Now tell me true, where should I go Asshai or Volantis?”

There is a moment’s silence as the warlocks seem to silently discuss what to say. Eventually the one with the blue hair comes forward and says. “Asshai Your Grace. We spoke truly when we said that you would find more there.”

“And why is that. Do not tell me lies about purity, no place is pure, purity is a lie.” Euron says sharply.

The warlocks look worried and then one replies. “Because they hold the knowledge of the beasts of fire. And they know the true location of the horn you seek Your Grace. Volantis lost that knowledge long ago.”

Euron looks at the man and says. “Interesting. The horn you say? But which one, there are two are there not? Or are there more? I could never quite remember as a child.”

The warlocks look worried then. “There is only one that is spoken of in the texts Your Grace. Only one horn that when sounded will grand the blower power over the beasts of fire for all time.”

“And do these texts say where such a horn could be found?” Euron asks.

“In Asshai. The complete work is and always has been there Your Grace. There is nothing more to it. We promise.” The warlocks say.

Euron looks at them and smiles. “Ah promises. Those things we give when we are too afraid to admit we are scared and might well be lying through our teeth. Tell me why should I believe your promise? What good is there for me to believe in you?”

“We have never been wrong before Your Grace. There is nothing suggesting we shall be wrong now.” One warlock says.

“Ah but you are a man. You are all men. I know you are, despite the claims you might make. And men make mistakes. It is in our nature, despite what others might say. We are no different to beasts.” Euron says.

“Please Your Grace. We know the way there, the way past the smoking sea, that need not lead to death.” One warlock pleads.

“The Smoking Sea? Oh you cannot feel the heat can you? We are already traversing the smoking sea. You will be seeing the ruins of that great civilization when we come to dock for the night.” Euron says, a smile curling.

“Why? Why are we here? There is death and danger here Your Grace. No answers can be found here.” One warlock says.

“You cannot hope to find the truth here. All the lore of the dragonlords had was lost during the doom. Or it was taken to Asshai by the time the blood century had ended.” Another says.

Euron laughs. “Not all of it was taken. Asshai was good to me. And they told me that the blood of warlocks can wake the dragons for a time. We shall put that to the test tonight. For blood must waken blood.”


	9. Feasting Crows

**5 th Month of 298 A.C. Winterfell**

**Prince Joffrey Baratheon**

The great hall of Winterfell was simplistic but at the same time it was imposing. There was a lot of history in its walls that Joffrey could sense. He was somewhat awed by it, it certainly made for a much grander spectre than the throne room, and that was saying something. Yes, there was most definitely a lot of history in these walls, history he intended to learn and to memorize. His father and Lord Stark had just announced his betrothal to the Lady Sansa, and Joffrey was quite happy about that. The lady Sansa was a pretty lady, she was going to be very beautiful once she had completely flowered, and Joffrey knew he was a very lucky man.

As luck would have it he was sat next to his betrothed and was getting to know her. “So tell me my lady, are you happy with our betrothal?” he asks.

The lady Sansa blushes somewhat. “Of course Your Grace. It is something I have wished for, and I am most honoured that you have deemed me worthy to be your future wife.”

“Please call me Joffrey my lady. And it is I who is honoured. Honoured to be betrothed to a beautiful lady such as yourself. I fear I am nothing in comparison.” Joffrey replies.

The Lady Sansa blushes. “You flatter me your…Joffrey. But I do insist that if you wish for me to call you by your given name, I do wish for you to call me by my given name. After all it is only right is it not?”

Joffrey smiles. “Of course Sansa. So tell me, what sort of things do you enjoy doing?”

Sansa is silent a moment and then replies. “I like sewing, and singing. And reading my prince. I find all of those things quite enjoyable and informative.”

“Joffrey,” Joffrey says reminding her gently. “And very interesting. I know that there is a certain amount of skill required for sewing. Or so my sister tells me. As for singing, I have heard that you are a very fine singer. Your brother Robb was telling me that this morning, if it is not too much trouble I would very much like to hear you sing at some point.”

His betrothed blushes furiously and says. “Of course my prince, it would be a privilege to sing for you. What sort of things would you like to hear?”

Joffrey considers for a moment and then says. “Hmm, I am partial to the bear and the maiden fair. But that is quite a raunchy song. Perhaps something more soothing and romantic such as Florian and Jonquil? After all who does not like a good love song?”

Sansa blushes even more furiously, she is very beautiful Joffrey thinks, very beautiful. “I did not know you liked such songs my prince? I would have thought you would have preferred something with a harder edge?”

Joffrey smiles slightly and says. “I do. But I also like a good love song now and then. After all, love is one of the purer emotions in this world of ours. We should cherish it when it shows itself.”

He can tell just by looking at his betrothed that she is falling for him. This is far too easy, far, far too easy. He finds he quite like this. His betrothed seems to be hanging onto his every word. When she realises that he is waiting for her to respond she turns a loveable shade of red. “Of course my prince, I quite agree. Sometime soon I shall sing for you?”

“I would like that.” Joffrey agrees. “Now tell me, you said you like to read. What sort of things?”

His betrothed blushes once more. He finds that he wants to kiss her then and there, she is really quite cute when she blushes. “I like reading many things my prince. Mainly tales of knights and maidens. And some about the she wolves of Winterfell as well.”

That perks Joffrey’s interest. “The She Wolves of Winterfell? That sounds quite interesting. Tell me more.”

His betrothed is silent a moment and then she says. “The She Wolves were five former ladies of Winterfell who all thought their children or grandchildren should rule over Winterfell. This all came about because Beron Stark the then Lord of Winterfell had died from wounds taken fighting the Greyjoys during the two hundred and fourteenth year following Aegon’s Conquest. Cregan Stark an old lord had sired many children and had many heirs as a result of this and because of many conflicts and sickness, the succession had become muddied. The leading claimants for the succession were the descendants of Serena Stark championed by my namesake Sansa Stark, as well as Beron Stark’s own children who were only children when their father died. There was a lot of discussion and arguments and at different points there were small fights between various factions, but there was never any outright war. The reason for this is given to the presence of Lynara Stark the old lady of the North who had survived her husband and many of her children. She prevented the fighting from escalating into all-out war. And it was through her will and testament that my great, great grandfather Willam came to the winter throne after around six years following his own father’s death.”

“A fascinating tale my lady. Truly it is. And it is one I look forward to hearing more of, tomorrow perhaps? If you would care to join me? Joffrey asks surprised to find he truly means it.

“I would be most honoured Your Grace.” His betrothed replies.

Joffrey smiles at her and is pleased to note the dimples that appear when she smiles back. She and her brother truly are very lovely figures to look upon. His thoughts begin to wander to what he could do to them both, before he quickly pulls them back and says. “So tell me, where did you find your wolf? I am told that these wolves are the first of their kind to be seen south of the wall in two hundred years?”

His betrothed is silent a moment and then she replies. “My brothers found our wolves, when they were coming back from observing the execution of a deserter of the Night’s Watch. My brother Jon found them actually. Father was going to have them killed, and yet it was Jon’s words that stopped him from doing so. I am quite glad he did, otherwise I would never have gotten Lady.”

Joffrey looks at his betrothed and says. “Then I am glad as well for she is quite a beauty your direwolf. And I think you have named her well. For she suits you as well as you suit her.” He looks then at the direwolf sitting there with its head resting in his lap.

“Thank you for speaking up for allowing them into the hall my prince. I know it is not a usual request, but not having her here, would have felt strange.” His betrothed replies.

Joffrey strokes Lady’s head and looks at his betrothed and replies. “It was nothing. It was mere common sense. You were given your direwolf for a reason Sansa, and it makes sense for her to remain with you at all times. To say otherwise one would have to be a fool.” He pauses then as he remembers something she had said earlier. “Remind me again, was it Jon or Robb who found the direwolves?”

His betrothed is silent a moment, biting her lip and he finds she looks even more beautiful when she does that. Eventually she replies. “Jon my prince. Why do you ask?”

Joffrey takes a moment to consider his response before replying. “Because as it was Jon who found the direwolves then surely he deserves a place on this table. He might be bastard born but he is a Stark nonetheless would you not say Sansa?”

His betrothed nods. “That is very true my prince. But would you not say that it would be taken as offensive by your father and mother?”

“Nonsense. My father is all for having your brother here. And my mother? Well my mother is only the queen after all.” Joffrey says before standing up.

“Where are you going my prince? Joffrey?” his betrothed asks surprised.

Joffrey looks at her a moment before replying. “I am going to do the right thing, and ensure all the Stark family is here together.” With that he walks down from the high table, eyes following him, Lady following him as well. He walks to where he knows the bastard of Winterfell is sitting and comes to stand before him.

Jon Snow looks at him his eyes clouded with something akin to awe, a sight Joffrey likes. “My prince?” the boy asks standing up and bowing.

Joffrey places a hand on his muscled shoulder and says. “Why are you sitting here with these ragtag fellows?”

Jon Snow looks somewhat taken aback by the question, it is clear that no one has ever thought to ask him such a question before. It shows in his resigned tone when he says. “Because Lady Catelyn thought it would be an insult to the royal family to seat me with my family.”

“Nonsense. You are a Stark, you might not have the name but you are one in person. You look like a Stark, you act like a Stark. You have a living breathing embodiment of the Stark sigil at your feet. You are a Stark, and your place is with the Starks.” Joffrey says. As if to emphasise his point, Lady walks to Ghost and butts his head with hers.

The bastard is clearly uncomfortable for he protests. “I do not want to cause a scene my prince. I am fine where I am.”

Joffrey though is not willing to allow the matter to rest. “Nonsense Jon. You deserve to be up there on that table. You are a member of the Stark family and nothing about your last name changes that.”

The bastard looks undecided, and yet the boy’s direwolf seems to decide for him, coming out from the table and standing beside Lady. The boy sighs and says. “Very well my prince. If you insist.”

Joffrey smiles and says. “It is a good thing for you to come and sit beside your family. There is no need for all this false pretence. You are a Stark as much as your brother is.”

After that, they walk together back to the high table, and Joffrey can hear people whispering about this as they go. The fact that the two direwolves seem content to walk at his side he thinks shows just how well he is doing. He hides a grin, and walks back to the High table. When they arrive, he hears his mother ask. “What is the boy doing here?”

Joffrey looks at his mother and says. “Jon is here because I asked him to be here. And he is a Stark despite his last name.”

“He is a bastard, not a trueborn son.” his mother replies.

“Oh let off Cersei. He’s Ned son all the same. Let him sit down if he wants.” His father says.

His mother looks as if she is going to protest and so Joffrey pulls Jon along with him as they go and sit in the place where Joffrey was sat before. They sit down and Joffrey looks at the bastard and says. “This is where you belong Jon, not down there with the gutter rats. Here.”

Jon Snow looks somewhat surprised at this. “Yes my prince.”

“Remember that Jon. You might not have the last name Stark, but you are a Stark. You are the person who found the direwolves, and for that alone you deserve to be up here.” Joffrey says.

Joffrey can see the protest die on the bastard’s lips at his words. And he hides a grin of satisfaction when he hears the boy say. “Of course Your Grace. Thank you Your Grace.”


	10. Bastard II

**5 th Month of 298 A.C. Winterfell**

**Jon Snow**

The feast had been alright he supposed, it was something he had looked forward to but also dreaded for some time. On the one hand it meant he got to drink more wine or ale than his siblings did, on the other it meant it was not allowed to sit at the high table. And whilst he was not a child anymore to sulk, it did still sting. There were times when he resented his father, resented him for doing as he had done, and there were times when he resented Lady Stark, for treating him the way she did when it was not his fault. In some ways he was glad that he did not have to sit at the high table and make awkward conversation with the royal family, on the other he wanted to be there. And when Prince Joffrey, the heir to the Iron Throne had come and asked him to join him, Jon had been surprised it was not often a guest wished to speak with him let alone invite him up to the High Table. And though he had been reluctant to do so, it seemed Ghost had made up his mind for him getting up and following the crown prince, the same as Lady did. And that was a strange thought for Jon, usually the direwolves only did as their masters bid them to.

That was how he found himself to be at the High Table conversing with the crown prince and the royal family as well as his own. Trying desperately to hide his disbelief at the situation he listened as the Prince asks. “So tell me Jon, what sort of things do you like?”

Jon is slightly thrown by the question, normally people do not ask him these sorts of things, and usually he is forgotten. “Well my prince, I quite like sword fighting and reading about the histories of the seven kingdoms.”

“Of course, sword fighting is a given. What man does not like sword fighting?” the prince says. “As for reading histories, what sort of histories? The type taught in lessons?”

Jon considers his answer for a moment suddenly aware that he does not want the prince to think him odd. The prince’s opinion suddenly means a great deal to him. And so it is with this in mind that he says. “Martial history Your Grace. I quite like reading about the various battles and wars that have been fought during the history of the kingdoms.”

Jon gives a mental sigh of relief when he sees the crown prince smile. “Ah very good. I quite like the military histories myself. What is your favourite battle?”

Jon takes a long moment to consider and then says. “That is a very hard question to answer my prince, but if I had to give one I would say the battle of the weeping water.”

The crown prince is silent a moment and then says. “An interesting choice. The Weeping Water, was a well-planned battle by King Brandon Stark and yet one might say that Royce Bolton was a fool to look toward using the river as a chance to stop the advance, considering his brother had betrayed him.”

“Ah but how could Royce know that? He was counting on some sort of betrayal from the Ryswells or the Ryders and as such when it did not come, that was when he knew he was finished.” Jon replies.

“Then if that was the case, then surely King Brandon should have destroyed the Boltons then and there. There was nothing of use that the Boltons could provide them. and as he did not do it then they continued to cause problems for your family until Bennard Bolton bent the knee because he knew his family was dying.” The crown prince replies.

Jon is surprised by the way the crown prince argues his case and asks. “What do you know of the wars with the Boltons Your Grace?”

The crown prince is silent a moment and Jon wonders if that is all he knows, but then he says. “I know that there of record some ten wars between the Starks and the Boltons, between the end of the Long Night and the full unification of the kingdom of the north. There were many notable battles, such as the Weeping Water, the battle of the barrows, the battle of the nine knives. The list is endless. Needless to say that after most of these battles the Starks had the advantage and did not push for it.”

“And what advantage is that Your Grace?” Jon asks curious.

“That they had the Boltons and their allies on their knees. Allowing the Boltons to keep the lands that they kept was foolish and left them somewhat in a more powerful position than they really should have been. Something that has always meant that the Stark lords had to keep themselves wary.” The crown prince replies.

“But surely there was honour in that. Helping their enemies from their knees, made their enemies more reliant on them would you not agree?” Jon counters.

The crown prince is silent a moment and then says. “Hmm, an interesting view. But their actions did also mean that the Boltons thought they could get away with smaller acts of treason throughout the time. It took one long period of slaughter before they finally learned their place. And in the process cost many lives.”

Jon looks at the crown prince curiously. “What would you have done in their place?” he asks.

The crown prince’s face takes on a look of deep concentration then, until he finally says. “I would have done as I believe Theon Stark wanted to do when the Boltons rose up against him, remove all grown male Boltons and take the youngest male Bolton as a ward and raise him up to respect and fear the Starks. That way the boy would be too scared to do anything but do as he was told and would also have some sort of relationship with the Stark heirs.”

Jon considers what the crown prince has said, and then says. “A smart move, something like what King Robert asked my father to do with Theon then?”

The crown prince nods and there must be something in his face for the crown prince then asks. “What is Theon Greyjoy like Jon?” Jon hesitates for a moment and the crown prince says. “Be honest with me. You do not need to lie if you do not like the boy.”

Something about the tone of the crown prince’s words reassure Jon. And Ghost it seems feels the same reassurance, he does not fail to note that Lady is still beside the crown prince as well, though Sansa seems to have gone somewhere. He takes his time to formulate a response and when he does he feels reasonably happy with what he says. “I think Theon Greyjoy is a man who is still a boy. He tries to act like a man but truly he is not a nice man, nor is he an honourable man. I do not think one could take the Ironborn out of him even if you tried.”

The crown prince looks at him then. “Interesting. So you do not like him then?”

The blunt manner of the crown prince’s question is refreshing for Jon, the southern squires had been talking in nothing but riddles. “I do not no. I think he is too full of himself and does not know enough about who he is or what he is to warrant such an attitude.”

The crown prince nods. “Indeed? Well that is hardly surprising, the Ironborn do tend to think overly much of themselves. It would not be so surprising if Theon thought the same, though it is a shame as one would think that he would be different considering who raised him.” The crown prince is silent a moment and then he asks. “Has Greyjoy ever been cruel to you Jon?”

Jon is somewhat thrown by the question. No one has ever truly asked him that before. He does not know how to honestly respond, and so he goes with the first thing he can think of. “Yes, for being a bastard he mocks me repeatedly.”

The crown prince looks somewhat angered at this. “Now that is not excusable. You are a Stark regardless of your last name, and your family is older and nobler of blood than the Greyjoys. Tell me Jon what is it you wish to do with yourself?”

Jon is somewhat thrown by this. “I…I… I do not know.”

“Do you wish to remain here with Greyjoy, or do you wish to make a name for yourself?” the crown prince asks.

Jon considers this a moment. “No I do not. I do not want to remain here and listen to that man make fun of my origin.”

“Then stand up for yourself Jon. Tell him that you are not a ward, you are not a hostage, you are a son of House Stark and you will always amount to more than he will.” The crown prince says.

“But why? That will not make a difference. He will simply tell me where to go and then insult me for it.” Jon says.

The crown prince smiles. “He will not if you have a opportunity that he does not.”

“What do you mean Your Grace?” Jon asks.

“Theon Greyjoy is a hostage for all intents and purposes. He cannot return to the Iron Islands without your and my father’s approval. He will remain here until either his father dies or our fathers lose their senses. You on the other hand have the entire world at your feet. Your family can open doors for you, what is it you have always wanted to be Jon?” the crown prince asks.

Jon thinks of a wife and children of his own, and a castle that looks somewhat like Winterfell, before crushing those dreams, he can never have that, but then he pictures a man in white armour a white cloak flying by his side and a glittering sword held aloft. And he knows his answer. “A man of the Kingsguard Your Grace. I wish to serve in the most honourable and dedicated guard there is in the kingdom.”

Something flashes in the crown prince’s eyes Jon is not sure what it is, but a moment later it is gone. “Interesting, very interesting Jon. And something that could well be arranged. I know you are a good swordsman your brother Robb was telling me as much as was Sansa. I can make your path someway easier if you so desire.”

“You would?” Jon asks surprised. “How? Why?”

“I would indeed, you are a member of the house that my father and I hold dear, why would I not want the best for you? I can speak with my father or with Ser Barristan and see if one of the Kingsguard would take you on as their squire.” The crown prince says.

Jon is completely surprised by this. “You…you can do that?”

“Of course. I am the crown prince. I need only ask and it will be done. But of course you would need to want it Jon. I will not ask unless you want it.” the crown prince replies.

Jon feels completely surprised by this, completely taken aback. He is not sure what to say or how to respond. He is not sure why the crown prince is giving him this opportunity but he knows that it is something he would be foolish to refuse. He looks at the crown prince and sees nothing but sincerity there, and then looks at Ghost and Lady both of whom look fairly comfortable with the crown prince, Lady resting her head in his lap. “I….I… would be most honoured Your Grace.”

The crown prince smiles and says. “Very good. Very good. The Kingsguard will be lucky to have you. I will speak with Ser Barristan later tonight if it so pleases you.”

“Yes Your Grace.” Jon says his heart jumping for joy.

 


	11. Royce

**5 th Month of 298 A.C. Winterfell**

**Ser Waymar Royce**

Winterfell was much like Runestone in that because of its simplicity it was magnificent. There was none of the over ceremonial pomp that so effected King’s Landing or the Red Keep. It was a nice and peaceful place that also had much activity. There was none of this false sense of trying to do things one way, there was only one way to do things and that was the old way. Waymar could appreciate that, and he could appreciate the power the Starks held. They would be important allies for the crown prince to have when the time came. There was power in the Starks and what they stood for, power that would make men follow them simply because of who and what they were. That was what the crown prince would need, a man like Eddard Stark that brought those of the honour inclined nature to him. For it would be a tough time ahead, King Robert would not live long enough to make it anything else.

The crown prince it seemed had also realised this and as such had begun making the first moves towards bring the Starks to his side, starting with the bastard. And so Waymar was not surprised when the prince spoke to him that night after the feast. “Tell me Waymar, what did you learn about the bastard from your interactions with him?”

Waymar considers for a moment and then says. “I believe Jon Snow is a man driven by duty. Once he knows what his duty is he will stick by it no matter the cost to himself. His father might be about honour, but growing up a bastard he has come to value to position and security of duty.”

“It might well be the case that should I give the boy what he wants, then he will be mine forever after. You saw how his eyes lit up at the chance to be a squire for a knight of the Kingsguard, give him that and he shall be putty for me to do whatever I wish.” The crown prince says.

“Most definitely Your Grace.” Waymar replies. “His sense of wanting to belong to something will not go away though. You must be able to reassure him that he is valued and wanted. You have given him hope and recognition, two things I do think he ever thought he would have.”

“Two very dangerous things as well one might add. Men will do strange things when they have hope and recognition. Just look at my own father. He fought a damned war for the woman he loved because he hoped to have her. The crown was a burden he never wanted or expected.” The crown prince says sagely.

“Of course Your Grace. But how will you continue to make the bastard yours? You have cast the first net, but now the bastard must needs be reeled in.” Waymar asks.

At this the crown prince smiles and says. “Theon Greyjoy. It seems the Greyjoy boy is over confident and not well liked by anyone but the Stark heir. That is who I will use. You shall continue to speak with Jon Snow, get to know him reassure him that he is not far from my thoughts with regards to what promise I made. And I shall speak to Greyjoy, and get to use him as the puppet he truly is.”

Waymar nods. “Setting them up for conflict? A smart move Your Grace. Though Robb Stark might be a slight hindrance to those plans. He is friends with both the bastard and the ward. And it seems he does not like them fighting.”

The crown prince looks at him in question then. “You think he likes to play the hero then does Stark?”

“Most definitely. It seems he wishes to live up to his father’s reputation. And considering there has been no conflict for nine years for him to fight in, this is how he does it. Playing peace maker between his brother and the ward.” Waymar says.

“Then that is how Robb Stark shall be included in my plans. The heir shall be compelled to act in order to prevent some sort of strife between the two. Strife that we shall help push them towards. There is nothing more satisfying than that. And when the time comes we shall bend Stark to our will.” The crown prince says.

Waymar gets a flutter in his chest at the word we, but he knows the crown prince means himself. “How will you do that your grace?” he asks.

The crown prince is silent a moment and then says. “We shall show Stark that it is in his best interests if Theon Greyjoy is seen not as a friend but as a puppet. Someone to use for one’s own gain. That is all the Ironborn are, they are not worth anything else.”

“And if Stark resists?” Waymar asks.

“Then I already have his half-brother looking like he will be willing to do as I ask simply for the chance to fight in the Kingsguard. It would be no hard step to remove Stark and have his half-brother legitimised.” The crown prince says.


	12. Dreaded Eye

****

**5 th Month of 298 A.C. Dreadfort**

**Lord Roose Bolton**

It was dark and cold, it was always dark and cold. The Dreadfort had always been a dark and cold place. That was how he liked it, had always liked it. The light removed the cold and he would wither away, that was not what the crow said could happen. The crow told him he must remain strong and alive. And he very much intended to do so. He would not allow his house to fall to Ramsay, the bastard was mad, madder than anything or anyone he had ever known before. That worried him, it very much worried him. There was mad and then there was insane and his bastard danced that fine line.  With the royal party here, there was no room for allowing anything to go awry. A quiet land, a quiet people those were his words and the words his grandfather had taught him. He would not allow that to be broken for a half mad bastard that was no true heir.

The bastard was sat opposite him looking at him with eyes that reminded him of his brother Donnor, his brother had been a mad man and a fool, and had died for that. “You must be wondering why I asked you here, away from your little amusements.” Roose says softly.

He can see some sort of fear and anger in the bastard’s face and that fills him with amusement. “Well I suppose you did not call me here to have some nice conversations.” The bastard replies.

“I did not. With Domeric and my wife’s death, you are the only one with my blood with whom I can trust with the Bolton line and inheritance for now. And so you must prove yourself. The same way I and our ancestors before us have done.” Roose says.

As expected the bastard leans forward and asks eagerly. “What do you want me to do father?”

Roose looks at the bastard a moment and then says. “We have borders with some very important lords.  The Manderlys and the Hornwoods to the south, Winterfell to the west and Karhold in the east. The Umbers to the north. The Manderlys are too strong as is Karhold. Winterfell is busy with the royal part and yet there are the Hornwoods.”

“The Hornwoods have never been all that powerful not since the days of Cregan Stark, they have sat on their lands and grown fat with their aid from the Starks. They are weak, and their lord is even weaker.” The bastard replies.

“Especially after that wound you gave him during his last hunt.” Roose replies. “A rash decision that might well play into your favour.”

“How? Hornwood still has a male running it. Daryn Hornwood is a fierce rider and fighter. There would be no chance to successfully gain some sort of hold over it without attracting notice.” The bastard says.

“I am not telling you to gain a hold of it, I am suggesting you finish what you started. No one knows that it was you who injured Hornwood. They all think it was a bandit. Use that to your advantage.” Roose states.

The bastard takes a moment to think, his face contorting into the image of the whore who was his mother. She was not particularly attractive now that he thinks on it, and not for the first time finds himself wondering why he decided to fuck her that day. Eventually the bastard speaks. “Hornwood will be going out for yet another ride will he not. Despite the injury. He is too stubborn a man to realise when to quit.”

Roose merely nods. “Exactly. The Lord of Hornwood is not the brightest of men. He will go riding to prove he is not that badly hurt and end up hurting himself in the process. Daryn Hornwood is but a boy, and boys can be coerced into doing things.”

“How will I do this without attracting the notice of Winterfell?” the bastard asks. “Surely they will come calling when Hornwood is injured or killed?”

Roose sighs sometimes the bastard is so very slow. “I am going to Winterfell am I not? The Lord of Winterfell has sent out invitations asking for his lords to come to the court to meet the king and the royal family. The man will be too busy dealing with all these boisterous lords before he can focus on something as small as Hornwood dying in a hunting accident.”

“A hunting accident?” the bastard asks incredulously. “That is what you want me to make his death look like? A hunting accident. There is so much else that could be done to the man who has constantly insulted our house from the very beginning, and you merely want him to die in what looks like hunting accident. Why?”

“A quiet land, a quiet people. That is my saying and the saying of our forefathers. It would be far too dangerous to allow anything else to be perceived. Winterfell must be kept busy, a murder would draw them away from that.” Roose says.

“It would send a statement to everyone else that the Hornwoods have fallen. They are a liability and always have been. We must claim those lands back.” The bastard says.

Roose merely looks at the bastard before replying. “That would not do. We cannot send a message to anyone. It is far too dangerous. And besides any such messages would not be associated with the Dreadfort. You are not a Bolton, only a Snow. Remember that.”

The bastard stands then his face red with anger. His voice is full of barely controlled anger. “Yes my lord.” With that he walks from the room, ignoring the fact that Roose did not dismiss him.

Roose sits in silence for a long moment then, merely pondering all that has occurred and is about to occur. He knows for a fact that his bastard will now go and do the exact opposite of what he has been told to do, which is exactly what Roose wanted. With the bastard dead that means he is free to remarry. Just as the crown promised. Alone in his solar, Roose Bolton smiles.


	13. Sword

**5 th Month of 298 A.C. Winterfell**

**Robb Stark**

Today for the first time he was fighting with live steel, something he had always wanted to do but had never been given the chance to do, due to father’s strict rules on such things. And though he was reluctant to admit to it, he supposed he owed Prince Joffrey thanks for allowing this to happen. It was Prince Joffrey that he was going to fight, using a sword that sparkled in the sunlight, mother and father as well as the King and Queen were watching and so Robb felt extra pressure being put on him. He looked at Joffrey and as Ser Rodrik called for them to begin, the crown prince looked eat ease holding live steel, as if he had been born to fight using it. Robb supposed he had really. For him the sword felt somewhat ill-fitting but it made no matter as they advanced at one another. Their swords raised neither man mad the first move, both assessing where the other was weaker and perhaps more likely to strike. Eventually Robb lost his patience and swung, the crown prince brought his sword up and blocked the blow, their swords screeched at the contact, and after a brief shoving match the crown prince managed to shove Robb’s sword off of his own.

They circled one another and then Robb moved forward once more his sword slanting left, Prince Joffrey seemed to pick up on this and moved out of the way just before Robb’s sword could hit him, whilst Robb struggled to bring his sword back up the prince managed to jab at his right, nicking him. Robb grimaced slightly but as Prince Joffrey was too slow to bring his sword back Robb managed to raise his elbow high enough to hit the crown prince in the back. The crown prince slumps slightly and Robb raises his sword prepared to do what he does not know, but he does not get the chance, for the crown prince is back standing properly soon enough, and so their exchanging of blows begins anew. Their swords hit one another again and again, sparks flying from the clanging, Robb grits his teeth grunting through the aches of his arms. Determined to ensure that he does not give any headway. The thing is that neither is the crown prince, he is just as determined, and he has more experienced. Robb blows are found out relatively easily, whereas Robb struggles to completely identify the movement of the crown prince.

Their dance continues, swinging and slashing, blows come and go, Robb grimaces in pain as another cut digs into his body. This time though he is managing to hit the prince back, thrusting and parrying with greater confidence. They are both getting the better understanding of one another that is something that fills him with confidence. He is growing more confident as the sparring goes on, he can see some of the crown prince’s trigger movements and this does allow him to begin spreading out a bit, allowing for greater room to manoeuvre in. He gets a few swings and hits to connect with the crown prince drawing a gasp or two from the gathered watchers, but that does nothing to the prince’s concentration and indeed the crown prince merely seems to shrug that all of with a quick few swings and swats and before he knows it his sword has been knocked to the ground and the crown prince’s sword is at his throat.

The crown prince lowers his sword and smiles at Robb. “A good fight my lord.”

Robb nods. “It was Your Grace, a very good fight. You are very quick on your feet.”

“Aye, it was something I had to learn to do. Given my natural size it might have been an impediment had I not trained long and hard to master it. Your stance was quite something, closed and open at the same time.” The crown prince says.

“Aye, my stance is one of my stronger points I would think my prince.” Robb replies. “It gives me a solid base from which to assess my opponent from.”

“So that is how you were able to assess my movements relatively quickly.” The crown prince muses. “Usually it takes new opponents some time to work that out. Interesting, and something that I will need to work on.”

“How did you find my grip of the steel my prince?” Robb asks, uncertain of why he does so, only certain that he wants to know the crown prince’s opinion.

The crown prince is silent a moment and then says. “It was a solid grip, good and firm. Though to me it seemed as though there were times during our little bout that your grip became too hard to truly be effective. Nerves are never a good thing, even if both our fathers are watching.”

Robb feels something bite into him at that, indignation perhaps, but he does not voice it instead he merely asks. “How do you do it my prince? How do you keep their presence from stopping you from feeling nervous?”

The crown prince is silent a moment and then says. “Through constant practice and in doing so developing the ability to block out any unnecessary distractions. In times of war, there will be all kinds of distractions and things trying to gain our attention. These are things that could cost us our lives. We cannot allow such things to influence us.”

Robb nods seeing the wisdom in this. “A clean mind is one that is filled with no distractions. How long did it take you get to that point my prince? For to me it seems like it would take many years to reach such a state of mind.”

The crown prince is silent a moment and then says. “I started training properly from the time I was ten Robb, I am not four and ten namedays old, and even then I have not completely mastered it. It will take time and patience, time and patience is all it takes to develop such a technique.”

\--------------

**Lord Eddard Stark**

Robb had fought well for his first time sparring with live steel, Ned had had a lump in his throat throughout the entire bout. His son had showed himself worthy of fighting the crown prince and that was something that had made Ned very proud, very proud indeed. His pride was only magnified by the fact that the crown prince had fought with live steel from a very young age and though he was a very good warrior, Robb had been able to match him for a little while. The crown prince was an interesting lad, he had his mother’s colouring though his blond hair was dark not light, and he had Robert’s blue eyes that was something, something interesting when looked at Prince Tommen and Princess Myrcella. Ned wondered truly wondered what sort of a person the crown prince was.

Right now though he did not have too much time to dwell overtly on the fight, for he and the king as well as his brother Benjen were gathered in his solar to discuss a most pressing matter that had brought Benjen down from the wall. Ned looked at his brother and still saw the little boy Ben had been before their worlds had been turned upside down, and though his brother was a man grown and had seen his own fair share of battles there was something else in his face now. “What was it you wished to speak to us about Ben?” Ned asks

His brother is silent a moment and then says. “Lord Commander Mormont is dead. He died in his sleep. And though you are already aware of this, there has been trouble since then. My fellow sworn brothers have been unable to decide on whom should be commander of the Watch and so it has degenerated into a series of argument and squabbles as old grievances come back to light.”

Ned groans internally, this was something he had feared happening, Robert of course seems nonplussed by this. “Why should there be any confusion? You are a Stark and are the First Ranger, surely that makes you a complete choice for Lord Commander?”

Benjen speaks then. “It is not as it was Your Grace. Some parts of the Watch have grown to resent the presence the Starks of Winterfell have had and do have at the wall. They call for a break from the traditions of old where we depended on Winterfell. And because my name is Stark, I am guilty by association. I will not put my name forward either. It is a role that has become poisoned. Mormont was someone who served with honour but at the end it ate away at him.”

“So you will not stand for the position then Ben? This is something you are certain of?” Ned asks, wondering if he could perhaps convince his brother to change his mind.

As always though Benjen holds his jaw firm and says. “Most definitely. I do not want so poisoned a chalice to pass to me. The old bear just managed to keep going through his final days. The others who want the position are the ones more willing to play politics.”

“And who are they?” Ned asks, knowing more about the Watch than Robert does.

“Bowen Marsh, Denys Mallister, Cotter Pyke and Allister Thorne they are all putting their names forward.” Benjen replies.

“Thorne?” Robert asks incredulously. “Thorne is contesting the election? By the gods no wonder no one has been chosen.”

“Why is Thorne standing Benjen?” Ned asks. “From what you have told me he is not the most popular of men.”

“Because there are more threats emerging from beyond the wall. It seems the wildlings are massing in some great number. For what purpose I am not entirely sure, but they are rallying, villages have been found deserted and empty. We do not know where it is that they are going but they are going somewhere. Thorne is the most marital of the potential candidates with the wildlings growing in strength, some feel he might be best placed to deal with whatever might be coming.” Benjen says.

“I thought the wildlings did not work well in large numbers? They are disorganized at best that is what I have always been led to believe.” The king says.

“Normally that would be the case. And yet something is clearly occurring. They are massing in numbers that have not been seen since the days of Raymun Redbeard came calling. We do not yet know who their leader is but whoever it is they are clearly quite good.” Benjen says.

Ned considers this and then asks. “So have you come to ask for aid in defending the wall or for aid in making the decision easier?”

His brother looks at him long and hard before saying. “Winterfell has often aided the wall when the elections had gone too long, the Old Bear has been dead for nearly three moons now, we must have a lord commander and soon. The wildlings are coming in their thousands no doubt, and there are things happening beyond the wall that have not been seen for millennia. Winterfell’s aid is required.”

Ned looks at Robert then and asks. “What do you think Your Grace?”

“I believe that if the wildlings are coming south then the wall must have men to aid it. But at the same time there are things that need dealing with in the south. You are hand of the king Ned, you must come south and do your duty. Your son can handle things here.” The king replies.

Ned feels anger growing inside of him and says. “Robb is but a boy Your Grace. Asking him to hold the north through this possible danger is not something I would want to do.”

The king waves a hand dismissively. “I highly doubt the wildlings will be coming south beyond the wall in any great number any time soon. And even if they do the Watch will be able to hold them back long enough for us both to come and deal with them.”

Ned sighs and says. “And if they do push beyond the wall? What then?”

His friend looks at him his eyes gleaming. “Then we fight them.”


	14. PLans

****

**5 th Month of 298 A.C. Winterfell**

**Jon Snow**

The crown prince was an interesting person, he was smart that much was for sure, as well as strong, deftly strong. That was also not a surprise to Jon considering the crown prince’s frame, he was nearly as big as a bull, and at least that was how Jon would describe him. He would make a fine king when his day came, a much better one than King Robert, the fat king who was such a disappointment to Jon after all the stories he had heard about the man.  Jon was still surprised that the crown prince wanted to be seen with him, let alone the fact that he was actually speaking with him, that was something very few people did, especially now that Robb was part of their discussion.

A discussion that Jon was not entirely sure what to make of, after all it was not every day that the crown prince of Westeros was sat in your room discussing the lords of the north and their families. Not only had that he seemed to show a very keen interest in them. Jon looks at the crown prince and sees that his eyes are wide with interest when he asks. “I know a fair bit of the Bolton history, though there was always one subject that eluded me.”

“And what is that my prince?” Jon hears his brother ask.

“Is it true that they still flay their prisoners?” the crown prince asks his voice straight and normal.

Jon looks at his brother and sees some sort of shock mirrored there. “I am not sure my prince, why do you ask?”

“I ask because my uncle Tyrion would often jape about such a thing and as I know Lord Stark is a harsh man, I was wondering if he would actually allow such a thing.” The crown prince replies.

Before his brother can reply, Jon speaks. “Of course not. Our father is a man of honour and flaying is a barbaric thing from an age gone by. It has no place here.”

The crown prince nods. “Of course, I was merely wondering is all. After all there are those in the south who speak of your home as if it was some sort of backward water. They forget that it is nearly as big as all the other six kingdoms combined. And that is something I intend to change, no one should forget the ancient history of the north.”

Jon looks at Robb and sees the same look of confusion on his brother’s face that is undoubtedly on his, still he does feel a small swell of pride at the fact that one of the most powerful and important men in Westeros wants to know more about his home. And so he asks. “What more do you wish to know about the north Your Grace?”

The crown prince is silent a moment and then he says. “Tell me more of the Karstarks and the Hornwoods. I know they border Bolton land, to some degree and would like to know more of them.”

Jon looks at his brother and then when Robb nods Jon speaks. “Well the Karstarks are a house that most know the origin of. Founded by Karlon Stark the younger brother of King Robar Stark some five thousand years ago after Karlon played a key role in the crushing of one Bolton rebellion. Robar took lands from the Boltons and gave them to his brother, Karlon founded a keep there known as Karhold, and settled there with a wife and children, it is said that his wife was a Bolton, the daughter of the defeated Bolton King though no one is entirely sure of this. Afterward the Karhold developed into the strong castle it is today and the Karhold Starks became the Karstarks and have always been a proud and prestigious house, loyal as well.”

Robb takes up the tale then. “The Karstarks of this generation are some of the more ambitious of the lot. Lord Rickard is a man set on having his daughter as Lady of Winterfell, I know this because of the constant presence the man and his daughter have here, Lady Alys is even a lady in waiting to my sister Sansa as I am sure my prince knows.” Jon sees the crown prince nod before Robb goes on. “Lord Rickard’s eldest son and heir Harrion is a fierce man, grown but not married, he is like his father ambitious and driven, whilst his brothers Torrhen and Eddard are quieter and more peaceful though strong fighters.”

“And what of Lady Alys?” the crown prince asks.

Here Robb errs somewhat and Jon provides an answer. “Lady Alys is kind and compassionate and shares none of her father’s ambitions. She is a good lady.”

The crown prince nods and then asks. “And what of the Hornwoods, what are they like?”

Jon looks at Robb who speaks then. “The Hornwoods are strong and proud. An old house they are not as wealthy as they once used to be, but they are still strong. Lord Halys is a proud man who is a good warrior, he is fiercely loyal. His son Daryn is our age my prince and is strong and bold.”

The crown prince nods and says. “Interesting, very interesting. You are lucky to have such loyal lords at your beck and call Robb. And you Jon, you will as well.”

Jon shifts somewhat. “I am not sure I understand Your Grace, I am only a bastard.”

He can hear his brother sigh, but it is true, the prince though waves a hand dismissively. “Nonsense. You might not bear the name Stark, which is something that can be changed very easily, but you are a Stark. Your father and family have seen to that. You can have these men there for you no matter what.”

Jon looks at the crown prince and despite himself asks. “How can you be so sure?”

The prince smiles and says. “Because I know you Jon, you are a charming man, and everyone likes someone who is charming.”

Jon feels something akin to pride flutter in him at the prince’s words, and just before he can reply there is a knock on the door.

* * *

 

**Prince Joffrey Baratheon**

As the door knocks and a member of his father’s household enters, Joffrey hides a smirk for he knows he has Jon nearly, so very close to being his just a bit more work and the boy will be his, the trueborn son as well. That will be good for his plans. He turns to look at the man who has come and asks. “What is it?”

The man hesitates for a moment and then says. “King Robert has asked for your presence my prince, as well as that of Lord Robb and Lord Jon.”

“What about?” Joffrey asks.

The servant hesitates a moment and then says. “A matter of grave urgency my prince.”

Joffrey looks at the two boys and then says. “Very well then it seems we must go. Where are they?”

“In Lord Stark’s solar my prince.” The servant says.

Joffrey nods and dismisses the servant and then rises and leads the way out of the room, Sandor Clegane his sworn sword follows behind them as they walk toward Lord Stark’s solar. They are all silent no doubt considering their own thoughts and what this meeting could be that is so urgent. Joffrey wonders if his father will finally give him a chance to prove himself. This information about the Karstarks and the Hornwoods is very interesting, very useful as well, for it can be used soon enough.

They arrive at Lord Stark’s solar and Joffrey nods at Ser Barristan and Ser Preston Greenfield who both stand guard outside. Not even looking back at the two Stark boys, Joffrey knocks and then enters the room. The king and Lord Stark look to have been in deep conversation beforehand, but Joffrey feels some pride at the look of delight that crosses his father’s face when he sees him. “Ah Joffrey my boy, you have come. And you have brought Ned’s sons as well, good, very good. Be seated.” They take the seats available to them and then wait for the king to continue speaking after a brief moment he does so. “I am sure you are all wondering why I have asked you here and well something of grave importance has come up and we, that is to say Lord Stark and I wished to get your opinion on it. Ned, over to you.”

Joffrey looks at Lord Stark who looks tired as if he has not slept for many days and he finds himself wondering if perhaps the news from beyond the wall had been more troubling. Eventually Lord Stark speaks. “Ramsay Snow has been seen raiding and pillaging through the lands of the Hornwoods, indeed it is believed that he was responsible for Lord Halys’ death and the disappearance of Daryn Hornwood the new Lord of Hornwood. Roose Bolton claims to know nothing of his bastard’s actions and yet it is clear this is some sort of plan from somewhere. This issue needs to be resolved quickly before there is tension within the north.”

There is a moment’s silence and then Joffrey speaks. “You want to hear our views on how to deal with this menace?” both men nod, and Joffrey takes a moment to think, he knows what his grandfather would do, but he wants his father’s approval and so he says. “I say we ride out from here with enough strength to match Snow and whatever men he has and then we capture him and bring him back in chains.”

There is a moment’s silence and then his father booms. “See, I told you Ned that is a good plan, it is what I would do.”

Lord Stark sighs there a moment and then says. “It is a plan filled with risks Your Grace. Snow knows the terrain and you riding out to fight him would be seen as an act of war that is something we cannot afford.”

Joffrey looks at the lord and says. “My father does not have to go forward for this to work. Snow cannot have so many men if he is hitting and running as it seems he is, a small company at least. We might go with some men from the royal household and from Winterfell to Hornwood, to lure the bastard there and then strike.”

Silence and then Lord Stark says. “I am not certain my prince, it seems far too risky a plan to use, with too great a risk to little reward.”

“Would you rather allow the bastard to continue unhindered causing havoc and building resentment? If indeed this is something that Bolton has planned, then this is what he is going for, he wants to use this resentment against you my lord. This is the only sure way of preventing it, and it might be a risk, but it is a risk I am willing to take.” Joffrey counters.

His father beams with pride. “A plan that I approve of. It is simply the only way you can get this done Ned, sitting around waiting for a time for peaceful talks is not going to do anything for you. Your people are ones of action, give them some sign that you are not merely waiting. Give them action, show them you are fighting and they will stay firm against Bolton.”

There is a moment’s silence and then Lord Stark sighs. “I suppose so, but then what of the risks? There is a lot at stake here, too much at stake Jon would argue.”

Joffrey speaks then. “Lord Arryn is not here anymore my lord, it is unfortunate, but he is not here. Sometimes action is the only course one can take, and in this case I believe it to be so.”

Jon Snow speaks then. “I would like to go with the prince father, after all I know these lands as well as the bastard does, and I know my way, with Ghost we shall be safe.”

“I to wish to go father.” Robb says.

Before Lord Stark can argue Joffrey speaks. “It would be most beneficial to me to have your sons with me, for who knows the north better than the Starks?”

Silence and then. “Very well, but you shall take a sizeable escort with you.” Lord Stark says, Joffrey nods and looks at his father to see pride reflected in his eyes.


	15. Worry/Hope

**5 th month of 298 A.C. Winterfell**

**Lord Eddard Stark**

His sons had ridden out with the crown prince and some eighty men, half from Winterfell and half from the royal household. Despite this, Ned could not help feeling nervous, he was not sure whether this was a good idea, they were all so young and anything could fall upon them, especially where Ramsay Snow was concerned, the bastard was by all accounts mad and depraved. Ned had received a barrage of questions for Cat about this when she had come to know of it, and truly Ned had no answers, the queen had seemed angry as well, but the crown prince had merely rebuffed her. He seemed determined to prove himself, just as Robb and Jon were, and Ned merely hoped that these eagerness did not get them killed.

He looked at the king, a man who had not yet given way completely to fat, but was somewhere there, middling as it were. The king had a look of pride on his face having just seen his son and Ned’s sons ride off with their men, and as he turned and saw Ned, his face turned into a grimace. “Oh come now Ned, do not look like that. They will be fine. Three of the Kingsguard are going with them. Your boys and men know the land and the bastard, and they should be fine.”

Ned bit back a sigh, it was so like the king to disregard fear when it came to battle, and merely accept the boldest proposition, something that might not have been the right one. “Do you not think this a bit too much a risk my king? After all, Prince Joffrey is your heir and Robb is mine, should this truly be a plan of Roose Bolton’s then he would have two very valuable hostages.”

A dark look passes across his friend’s face then as Ned’s words sink in. “He would not dare do such a thing. Bolton is no fool Ned, I know that much, if this is his work then his bastard is the one he wishes to get rid of. From what you have told me Bolton’s bastard has been a nuisance for some time ever since the lad, what was his name?”

“Domeric.” Ned supplies.

“Yes since Domeric died. This could well work into our favour and his, for it get rids of a nuisance and gives our boys some practice for when the war comes.” Robert says.

Ned sighs, not this again. “What war Robert? The kingdoms are secure, and the Targaryens stand little to no chance in getting any support here.”

Robert’s face becomes a dark cloud then. “There are supporters for the dragon spawn deep down buried within the facets of the kingdoms. I know this Ned, and you know it. There will be a war I am definitely certain of it, and I do not want my son to be unprepared. We were not unprepared for war when it came for us. Jon made sure of that.”

“And he always claimed he was damned lucky we never got killed when we fought the clans. How do we know that the boys will be so lucky? The north can be a cruel and hostile place at the best of times, and with southerners here, which is what your son is Robert, who knows what sorts of things might occur. The common people fear Ramsay Snow, and with him no doubt holding the new Lord of Hornwood hostage, gods alone knows what he might do.” Ned says.

A look of deep displeasure crosses his friend’s face then. “Then why have you not dealt with this matter beforehand Ned? Why have you allowed such a thing to continue when you know the risks it poses?”

The question makes Ned feel uncomfortable and for a moment he does not know how to respond, but then he says. “It does not do to alienate one of my most powerful lords, Bolton commands significant appeal here and he has the ear of the Ryswells and the Dustins. Should I do something to displease him I would not only be displeasing him but them as well. That is not something I can afford.”

His friend stares at him then and asks. “What do you mean? Your people worship you Ned. I saw it on the ride here. They speak about you and your family as if you are all some sort of gods come down from the heavens to rule them. Why should they oppose you? You have given them nothing but peace and prosperity since the end of the war.”

Ned looks at his friend a long moment and then whispers. “Why is it that you feel as if you are not worthy of being king? Why is it that you constantly fear Targaryen invasions and support from here? Why do you feel like this? You have given the kingdoms peace and plenty. There is no reason for you to feel as you do, and yet you do. Why is that Robert?”

“Ruling seven bloody kingdoms is not the same as ruling just one Ned!” his friend blusters. “It is a harder job and requires more skill and thinking than I possess. I was not made for this, I was made to fight and to fuck, not to sit down and discuss politely the little details of the kingdom.”

“Then why did you take the throne? Why did you remain in power when it became clear to you that you were not fit to rule? Why do it if it made you unhappy?” Ned probes.

“Because it was my duty, we were never going to put a god’s damned dragon on the throne, not after killing the only one who was worth anything. So I took the damned throne, and I wanted Lyanna to be by myside, everything would have been easier had she lived, but no, she died, and the bastard got her. And now, now I keep going to I can ensure my son turns out as the man I was supposed to be, the man my father wanted me to be, not the man I was. And by the gods not the man Cersei wants him to be. I will never allow that.” His friend replies.

* * *

 

**White Knife Land**

**Robb Stark**

The crown prince was an interesting person, he was someone who it appeared was very educated and interested not only in what he had been told about the realms he would one day rule, but also about the specific detail relating to those realms. It was a strange concept for Robb who had grown up believing most southerners apart from his mother were ignorant of the world around them, that they believed in prejudices and all other sorts of nonsense that were like to diminish their view of the world around them. And yet here was the crown prince riding out with them to deal with a very strange and delicate issue, and asking questions about it all and the people involved. It was very bizarre to Robb.

They were riding through the land that bordered the eastern tributary of the white knife, coming closer to Hornwood lands, and the crown prince was asking some very interesting questions, Robb looked at the prince as he spoke. “So this Ramsay Snow, have you ever met him? If so what is he like and why is he like that?”

“We met him once, at a feast held in the Dreadfort a year ago, I think it was for Lord Bolton’s nameday. The man was very quiet, but there was a rage to him, a very dark rage that was deeply unsettling. I did not know what to make of it.” Robb answers.

“It was as if he were angry to the world, very angry. He kept looking at us all as if we were there to take something away from him.” Jon adds.

Robb looks at the crown prince riding next to him, and sees a look of deep interest on his face. “Interesting, very interesting. Do you two have any reasons as to why the bastard might be like this?”

Robb looks at his brother, and sees the same look of confusion on his face that Robb feels. Hesitatingly, he says. “I do not know for sure my prince, but from what I have gleamed it is because he is a bastard that he feels and acts the way he does. It seems that he was raised to believe that he was something he is not, and that in itself has caused all sorts of problems for the Boltons. Lord Bolton’s heir Domeric died a year or two ago, and there are those who believe the bastard was responsible for that.”

The crown prince looks at him interested. “And what makes people think that it was the bastard that killed his trueborn brother? Is that not a bit of an overdone thing do you not think?”

Robb nods his head in agreement, this is something he has always agreed on, but not something he has voiced aloud for fear of reproach. Jon however, has no qualms on such things. “Because the bastard always seems as if desires that which he was never supposed to have. His whole demeanour is that of a man seeking that which is not reachable. It is of a man who clamours for something that is within and without of his reach. It is frankly sickening.”

Robb is somewhat surprised at the venom in his brother’s voice and notices that the crown prince is as well. Trying to change the subject he asks. “What has gotten you so interested in the bastard of Bolton my prince? He is not that important in the great schemes of things surely? There are other more important people who are here.”

The crown prince looks at him, and Robb feels something odd stir inside of him, whether it is the movement of the horse over the ground or not he does not know, but something is there. “I ask Lord Robb, because it is important for one to know one’s enemy. The more one knows of the enemy, the easier it becomes to prepare for them. To assess their every move and to see where there is a fault in their line. In battle one does not have the luxury of getting to see these moves or to garner this knowledge easily, and so one must always be prepared.”

That takes Robb by surprise and he looks at the crown prince, feeling that odd feeling stirring within him once more, their horses are quite close to one another now, and he can see the defined features of the crown prince, he is not a bad looking man, handsome some would say, he knows Sansa definitely thinks so. He blinks slightly and then asks. “Is that what this is to you my prince? A battle? Bolton’s bastard has no more than forty men that is not a battle that is a mere skirmish.”

“When dealing with men who want to kill you, everything you do regarding them is a battle. Never forget that Robb, and you will never falter. Forget that and you are doomed to fail.” The crown prince says.

Robb looks at the crown prince and then at Jon and notices the awed look on his brother’s face, something akin to jealousy flares inside of him but then he too is awed and he asks. “How did you come to acquire such knowledge my prince?”

The crown prince does not look at him, and his voice is soft when he replies. “I rode out with my father when I was ten and three namedays old to deal with some trouble in Crackclaw Point we were ambushed and my father and I were separated in the chaos. I had to make a decision and that decision has haunted me for every day since then.”

His interest piqued Robb asks. “What decision was that my prince.”

The crown prince stops his horse and they all do the same. The man looks at him his voice calm and yet there is a storm raging in his eyes when he replies. “I ordered all those who were attacking me and my men killed and those that tried to escape were butchered. I have never seen so much blood before, and since.”

Stunned by this revelation but impressed by the boldness and openness of the crown prince, Robb does not have a chance to speak before they hear a cry, and looking to find where the noise is coming from, Robb is shocked to see Daryn Hornwood slumped against a tree before them, his mouth gagged and his hands tied.


	16. Hornwood

**5 th Month of 298 A.C. White Knife Land**

**Jon Snow**

The sight of Daryn Hornwood, bound and gagged to the tree before them, was something that Jon knew he would never truly get out of his head. The heir to Hornwood, or rather the Lord of Hornwood looked as if he had run the rides with a bull several times so many were his bruises. It was a horrifying sight, and one that Jon knew he would not likely forget in a hurry. The bastard of Bolton had clearly made his move for the Hornwood lands, as the new Lord of Hornwood looked beaten and broken. Jon looks at his brother and the crown prince and asks. “What should we do?”

The crown prince speaks then. “We dismount and aid him. Sandor, bring your knife.” The crown prince dismounts as does his sworn sword Sandor Clegane. The crown prince walks towards where Daryn Hornwood is, and Jon can hear the Lord’s cries from here. Following his brother’s example he dismounts along with Robb and they walk toward the new Lord of Hornwood warily.

They stop next to the crown prince who looks at the Lord of Hornwood, what looks like horror and fascination on his face. Robb speaks then. “Gods what has Bolton’s bastard done to you Daryn?”

The Lord of Hornwood makes a noise, and the crown prince grunts. “Sandor cut the man’s gag and his bonds. Let him be free from this prison.”

The hound does as he is bid and soon enough the Lord of Hornwood is sputtering and splattering. Spit and blood flying from his lips, he looks at them all his eyes wide. “What…what are you doing here?”

“We have come to bring you back to your lands and home my lord.” Jon says.

“My father? What happened to my father? Were you able to save him?” the Lord of Hornwood asks.

“No, your father died of his wounds.” The crown prince says his voice curt. “Tell me what happened Lord Daryn, I am Prince Joffrey. How did you come to be captured by the bastard of the Dreadfort?”

Daryn looks somewhat suspiciously at the crown prince before replying. “I went out riding with my men to go looking for the bastard. He was plaguing our lands, and we needed to protect our people. I found his companion Reek out fetching water from the well nearby and had him captured and questioned, before killing him. The man smelt horrible. And yet I think that was a trap, a trap meant to lure us into a sense of false security, for the bastard and his men came out of the clearing and attacked me and my men, my men were killed and I was taken prisoner.”

Jon looks at the Lord of Hornwood, whose eyes are now squarely on the crown prince. Jon looks at the crown prince and sees that his face is twisted in thought, before he eventually asks. “Did the bastard take you to any specific place? The Dreadfort? His own holdings should he have any?”

The Lord of Hornwood appears dazed for a moment before he comes back to life saying. “I do not know. My eyes were covered most of the time we travelled. All I heard were snippets of conversation. Snippets that revealed that there was something else a foot here. The bastard was not acting purely on his base instinct though he would have liked me to believe as such.”

Jon speaks then, his gut worrying him. “What do you mean? Do you think his father had some role to play in this? If so why would he act now with the royal party here?”

The lord of Hornwood appears quite dazed now that Jon looks at him properly, he is squinting even though there is no sun just now. The clouds having come forth as they waited. “I…I need to go to Karhold. Alys will be waiting for me. I said I would go and meet her once I was done with Ramsay.”

Jon looks at his brother and the crown prince in confusion and asks. “When did you say that my lord?”

“I said it yesterday. Ramsay is not here now, we must go. I must leave at once, for who knows when the bastard shall show up once more.” The lord of Hornwood says. He tries to stand but his legs give way and he falls back to the ground.

Robb who is holding Daryn speaks then. “You are in no position to go anywhere Daryn, stay here.” Daryn begins to protest, trying to stand before falling down once more, after that he meekly stays put.

Jon looks at his brother and then at the crown prince, all of their expressions filled with worry. The crown prince gestures for them to move away slightly, and once they have, he whispers. “Something has definitely been done to Lord Hornwood. He is not in his right mind. The bastard has done something and we need to find out what.”

“How will we do that? After all, we do not know where the bastard is, nor do we know where he took Daryn. I doubt Daryn could tell us in the current state that he is in.” Robb says.

“We could always follow the trail, after all there are footfalls near here and near the clearing. It should not be too hard.” Jon says.

“I do not think that is a wise move.” Robb says. “After all, we could well meet our own doom there. Gods alone know what might be waiting for us there.”

Jon and his brother look at the crown prince then waiting to hear what he has to say. The crown prince is silent a moment before he eventually speaks. “We wait here. Some men will be sent out to follow the trail, and others shall explore the clearing that Lord Hornwood mentioned. That is the smartest course of action to follow.” Jon and his brother nod and orders are barked and men go riding off in those mentioned directions, the crown prince then speaks once more. “Now why might the bastard have done this?”

Before Jon or his brother can reply, a rustling comes from the trees and they all turn round to see a group of men coming toward them, leading them a man with a long face and pale skin his eyes gleaming in the light. “Well what do we have here?” his voice sounds soft, but filled with malice. “Two wolves and a Stag? I think I shall be feasting well tonight.”

* * *

 

**Prince Joffrey Baratheon**

The bastard of Bolton is a tall man, he is all muscle, or so it seems to Joffrey, and there is a mad glint in his eyes. His eyes which are pale, so very pale look menacing in the pale light. Joffrey feels a shiver run through him, but it is not one of fear, but rather, one of anticipation. He knows what is to come next, and he looks forward to it. Noticing his men have their hands on their swords, he speaks. “Ramsay Snow I presume?” the bastard gives a mock bow then, and looks up his eyes glinting madly. “What are you doing here so far from your home? Should you not be back at the Dreadfort?” he wonders if the plan will work, Robb and Jon are already beginning to move but are doing so silently, their direwolves moving into action. The bastard is focusing on him and not them, a boon from the gods it seems.

The bastard looks at him and then says. “I have come to claim my prize. The Lord of Hornwood has sworn himself to me as his overlord, and I intend to fulfil that oath. Now if you all move aside, there is no need for any of this to get violent.”

Before Joffrey can speak Robb Stark says. “We cannot allow that. You have committed a crime and broken the peace. You must come with us to Winterfell. To answer for the death of Lord Hornwood and the mutilation of Lord Daryn Hornwood.”

The bastard looks offended then and says. “I do not believe I have done any wrong. Lord Daryn came with me willingly and his father died of a hunting accident. Is that not right Lord Daryn?” the bastard calls out.

Joffrey looks over the bastard’s shoulder and sees Lord Daryn struggling to his feet, his interested is piqued, and he knows he needs to keep the bastard talking, and so with a quick glance at Robb and Jon who both nod he speaks. “So tell me my lord, how did you get Lord Daryn to be so….malleable?”

The bastard of Bolton looks at him curiously and says. “I do not know what you mean my prince. After all Lord Daryn has always been quite…willing to do overs bidding to say little. He was fairly willing to come when I asked.”

Joffrey looks at Lord Daryn who is still struggling to his feet, and then back at the bastard his expression bemused. “Come now my lord, tell me true, what did you do to make the man so biddable?”

The bastard looks almost flattered at this and finally says. “Well truth be told there is a long process involved in turning them into this state. A lot of persuasion and perhaps somethings that those Stark boys might well frown at. All clearly needed to ensure that they are willing to do as you say. It is a simple process and it is rather quite delightful if one does like such things.”

Joffrey will not lie, his interest is piqued, but he manages to keep the interest from showing, as he looks slightly over the bastard’s shoulders to see Robb and Jon stalking ever closer to the bastard. The man is too intent on Joffrey to even notice or hear their footfalls. Joffrey continues speaking. “Now that is something. The ability to make a man completely obey you. A seductive concept would you not say my lord?”

The bastard smiles, and Joffrey sees that his teeth are all white, a sign that the man is clearly plotting something. “Ah yes, of course, of course. It is always about ensuring that they believe you are going to give them what they want, that is when you dangle it in front of them, once you have done that, they will follow you and do whatever you ask no matter the personal consequence. Once that has been achieved you pull the darkness forward and ensure they are bound to your will.”

His interest truly is piqued now and he cannot help show it when he asks. “And how do you do that my lord?”

“With a bit of blood my prince. Why Lord Daryn is cut and bruised, but so am I. We both gave ourselves to ensure that this ritual ended well. For if it does not then we would both die, and where is the fun in that?” the bastard asks

Joffrey looks at Lord Hornwood and sees his sullen face, his sunken cheeks and then back at the bastard his eyebrows raised in silent question. Before he asks. “It is true then? The words are true?”

The bastard nods. “Oh very true. Very, very true my prince. I did not think you would know of them, so few do, even here where they were created. It is shame that the Starks have reduced them to nothingness really. It was quite something when they were strong.”

Joffrey looks at the bastard and asks. “Do you have them?”

The bastard pulls out a piece of paper, curled and frayed at the edges. “Of course I do. You do not think I would leave them where these idiots could get it now do you?” Joffrey shakes his head. “Now that you know I must do what needs be done. You understand of course my prince?”

Joffrey sees the bastard move his hand to his sword, and moving his head to one side to give the sign to Jon and Robb he says. “Aye I do, but it seems that we must end this sooner than I had thought. Perhaps we might speak another time, or perhaps not. Either way I shall have that paper.”

The bastard chuckles. “I think not.”

Joffrey grins, his lip curling into a snarl. “I think so. Robb and Jon, do as you must.”

Before the bastard has time to react, swords are drawn and are shoved through the bastard’s throat and chest leaving him bleeding his eyes on Joffrey he falls to his knees. As his grip loosens, Joffrey walks forward and plucks the paper from the bastard’s hand. “I think I shall take this and keep it safe. You have guarded it well, but now I own It.” with that he turns and walks back to his horse, Robb and Jon joining him. He looks at his men and the bastard’s men all of whom are staring at him and the bastard, he looks at the Hound and says. “Kill them all.” And with that he mounts his horse as Robb and Jon do the same and he turns his horse and spurs it on back to Winterfell.


	17. Concern

**5 th Month of 298 A.C. **

**Robb Stark**

His heart was still hammering, the sight of Ramsay Snow impaled on his sword was not an image he was like to forget soon. And the fact that the crown prince had been so calm when speaking to the bastard, as if they were not facing some cruel monster who no doubt would relish in their deaths. That and the fact that the crown prince had looked as if he were actually enjoying his conversation with the bastard, had unnerved Robb somewhat. Looking at the crown prince now as they rode, he seemed perfectly normal, the malice that had been present in his face before was not there. Robb was doing his best to convince himself that it was something he had imagined.

“We shall stop here.” The crown prince says his voice straight and curt.

Robb pulls the reins of his horse bringing her to a stop, and looks at the crown prince who has brought his own horse to a stop. “My prince?” Robb questions.

The crown prince dismounts, but does not reply immediately, when he looks at Robb, Robb understands that the man wants him to dismount and so he does so, as does Jon. Their direwolves come with them as they follow the crown prince away from their horses. When the crown prince speaks his voice is soft. “You did well today my lords. Very well.”

“We did what was asked of us by our prince, it was nothing.” Robb says dismissively.

The crown prince fixes him with a gaze that Robb has heard is reminiscent of Tywin Lannister’s. He shivers internally. The prince’s voice is soft when he says. “It was more than that. This task that we set out on could have ended in numerous that the bastard was so confident that he did not think to send out scouts, shows how damaging this thing is.” The crown prince holds up the parchment that he has had in his hands ever since.

“What is that my prince?” Robb asks.

The crown prince looks down at the document and then says. “It is something I have been looking for, for a long, long time. It is something my family has looked for, for a long time as well. And now we have it.”

“Does it have a name my prince?” Robb asks his curiosity piqued.

The crown prince nods. “It does, it is called the scroll of the builder. Written in ancient times by Brandon the Builder the First king, and it is something that the Boltons have held for many years now.”

Something in Robb’s memory jogs at the name then, and Jon speaks his voice filled with awe. “It actually exists?” Robb looks at his brother in question and Jon goes on. “The scroll was something that was used by our ancestor to supposedly aid in the building of the wall and in ensuring that death could not claim his family.”

Robb looks down at the parchment and exclaims. “And this piece of parchment is that? Truly? Are you sure it is not just some fable?”

The crown prince holds up the parchment and says. “It is no fable Robb. This thing, this thing is something old and powerful. That the Boltons had it for so long shows why so many things went wrong for your family in the years following the conquest.”

“How could such a piece of parchment do something like that?” Robb asks.

“Because it can bring someone back from the brink of death. Every time the Boltons looked as if they were to lose, they would use this. It has been mentioned in the histories of your land and kingdom for many centuries, hinted at but never stated outright.” The crown prince says.

Robb laments his lack of retaining historical knowledge and looks to Jon for confirmation, his brother nods and says. “It does make sense. All those times the Boltons were beaten and then rose anew to fight back, how else could they have done it, then without the parchment his grace holds in his hands now?”

Robb looks at the piece of parchment and then says. “If it is so valuable, then why have our family never tried to gain it back?”

“They have tried why do you think we suffered so badly after Lord Cregan died? But it seems that our father does not pay heed to it. Now that the crown prince has it, he gets to decide what to do with it.” there is almost something akin to reverence in his brother’s voice at that, and it grates on Robb slightly.

As if sensing this, the crown prince turns to him and says. “You will be Lord of Winterfell one day Robb, you should decide what happens to this.”

Surprised by this, Robb takes the piece of parchment from the crown prince’s hands and looks at it, he reads the words, written in the old tongue and only understands part of them. Then he notes that there is the same words in the common tongue and he looks at the crown prince. “It mentions something else my prince, something about other relics? What does that mean?”

The crown prince looks somewhat indecisive, as if he cannot decide whether or not he wants to tell them, eventually he nods and says. “There are ten relics, from the time when the first men ruled. What you hold in your hands now is one of them, the scroll of the builder, used to keep one alive and away from death. There are nine others, and together they are supposed to keep the darkness and destruction away, for there will come a time it is said that darkness and fire will try to return to the world. These relics when collected are the only ones that can stop it.”

Robb looks at the crown prince and then at his brother, before looking back at the crown prince. His voice is sceptical when he asks. “How do you know for certain Your Grace? How do you know that this was not something Bolton or whoever, just made up?”

The crown prince looks at him with something akin to fire in his eyes. “I know because another is supposed to be here in the north. Buried in a lake of ice, not far from Winterfell’s lands. And I believe you know of the myth.”

Robb looks the crown prince and his voice is barely a whisper when he asks. “The original Ice? It is a relic? I thought it was lost?”

The crown prince shakes his head. “It was never lost, merely hidden from those who would use it for the wrong cause. It can be yours if you want Robb.”

Robb looks at the crown prince and then at Jon, and in his brother’s eyes he sees the same excitement reflected in them that he feels. “What do you wish for me to do my prince?”

The crown prince, his face solemn merely says. “You must swear to tell no one else of what I have told you here. The fewer people who know, the better. For there are enemies at every corner and only the true can claim what is theirs.”

Robb looks at his brother then, and they both nod, and then get down on bended knee, a feeling of the great in his gut, Robb bows his head and speaks. “I, Robb of the House Stark, do hereby swear to you, Prince Joffrey of the House Baratheon, heir to Westeros, that I shall be your man in this venture, from this point until my death. I shall not rest until the relics are all in your possession.” As his brother finishes swearing a similar oath, Robb looks at the crown prince, and sees something like pride reflected in his eyes, he feels a flutter there, something that increases when the crown prince raises him to his feet.

“Thank you Robb, Jon, now we might begin our journey together as brothers.” The crown prince says.

* * *

 

**Winterfell**

**Lady Sansa Stark**

She was truly going to be marrying the crown prince. That was something she still could not believe, even though it had been a reality for almost a moon now. She was going to be a princess, and then a queen, it was like something from the songs she so loved. And the prince was charming and handsome, and funny, he was like a knight form one of the songs as well. She knew she was in love with him, truly she was. There was nothing else about these feelings she had for him, she was determined to be a good wife to him, and so she had asked her mother if she could speak to her about being a wife and a mother.

Her mother looked slightly tired, but was still one of the most beautiful women, Sansa knew, far more so than the queen, who looked more like a cold than a true beauty, there was no warmth in the queen’s eyes, and she wondered why that was. Her mother looked at her then and asks. “What do you wish to know Sansa, sweetling?”

Sansa swallows, nervous suddenly, and then says. “I just want to know what it is like to be a wife. I am near my flowering, and shall soon enough be wed. Does the wedding night hurt mother?”

Her mother looks slightly taken aback by this, but then says. “It does at first, but it is a sweet ache sweetling. If the prince is gentle, it will not hurt as much as it can do.”

Sansa nods. “I know Prince Joffrey will be gentle, he is such a nice and gentle man, who is smart and funny.” She sighs wistfully then says. “I think I love him mother.”

Her mother laughs slightly. “Oh Sansa, sweetling, this is a nice thing to hear. For so long your father and I worried that perhaps this might not be the case. But tell me what do you make from your conversations with him?”

Sansa knows her mother is only being inquisitive but the question slightly annoys her. Still she answers. “He is a smart, well-read man mother. So very knowledgeable about all sorts of things. It seems that he has a particular knowledge on the north that not even Maester Luwin has! That in itself was something I found quite strange, but also wonderful. We have so much to talk about!”

Her mother smiles. “That is good, you have a better foundation than your father and I did when we were first wed.”

Sansa looks at her mother then and asks. “But you love father deeply do you not mother?”

“Of course I do sweetling, why ever would you think otherwise?” her mother replies.

Sansa uncertain of how much to say, takes a breath and then says. “I overheard two people from the King’s party discussing you and Uncle Brandon. They said things that surely could not be true. And there was a man’s name mentioned, I do not remember, was It Petyr? Peter?”

“Petyr?” her mother asks.

“Yes that’s the name.” Sansa says. And then seeing the look on her mother’s face she worries she should not have mentioned this.

Her mother is deep in thought before she speaks. “Where did you hear this, and what did they say sweetling?”

Sansa takes a deep breath and then says. “They were only speaking about the duel that uncle Brandon and Petyr Baelish fought over your hand, and they were speaking about how Petyr Baelish changed certain details, to make himself look more, I don’t know the word they used.”

Her mother sighs then. “I feared this.” Her mother looks at her directly then her voice strong and solemn. “Sansa, you know that I love your father very much, and that I have never loved another man other than your father don’t you.” Sansa nods, and her mother continues. “Whatever you might have heard, were perhaps the rumours that Petyr himself would have caused or started, because he was a man who was often wondering how he could make himself look better. And of course there are always people who want to discredit us, for we are not from the south.”

Sansa looks at her mother then and asks. “Then why does he say such things? If he knows they are lies, why does he continue to speak of them? Does he have no honour?”

Her mother sighs then. “I do not know sweetling. All I would say is that you should not pay that much attention to these men and their talk of things they know nothing about.”

Sansa nods, and then determined to change the topic of conversation asks. “Will Arya truly be coming south with father and I when we go south mother?”

Her mother looks at her intently then says. “Whilst it would be good for your sister to go south, and to get some more refinement in the ways of being a lady, your father and I have decided that she shall not be going south with you. Instead your brother Bran shall be going south, to serve as the crown prince’s squire.”

Sansa breathes a sigh of relief. “I am glad mother, I know Arya is my sister and I should be sad she is not going, but sometimes she can be very annoying, and she would only be trouble in the south mother. Even father says as such!”

Her mother purses her lip then and says. “She is your sister, and no matter how much trouble she might be now, she does love her, and I know you love her as well. I know we shall all miss you when you leave.”

Sansa takes her mother’s hand and says. “I will miss you as well, but perhaps you can come and visit and be there for my wedding?”

Her mother nods. “Of course sweetling, I would not miss it for anything. We shall all be there. And I promise you, it will be a good event for us all.”


	18. Discourse

**5 th Month of 298 A.C. Winterfell**

**Prince Joffrey Baratheon**

They had arrived back in Winterfell easily enough, and his men and the men from Winterfell had returned. Joffrey’s heart had been hammering as he had watched the Stark men return into the castle, but there was not all that much he could truly do to prevent them from speaking of what had happened. They did not know of the scroll, not truly, but Stark’s sons did, and yet they had sworn an oath to him, and he knew that that oath would bind them to him much closer than anything else. The quest had begun properly to find the relics and Joffrey was determined to ensure that they were all found. It was essential that they were found.

Right now though, he had to play the gracious prince to Lady Sansa, it was not a role he truly wished to do right now, but it was one he knew he had to play. She did look truly beautiful with her hair done in a simple northern style, her cheeks flushed. She was really beautiful. “So my lady, are you looking forward to coming south?” he asks uncertain of what to truly talk of.

His betrothed is silent a moment and then says. “I am Your Grace, very much so. I do believe it will be an adventure. Something different to what I know. I am very much looking forward to it. Are you looking forward to returning home?”

Joffrey considers this for a moment and then says. “Truthfully my lady, I would rather remain here in Winterfell. Things are simpler here, there is less of the drudgery of court about Winterfell. And there is much that one can learn from browsing through the library here. Things that are not available in King’s Landing.” Thoughts of a map and the location of the relics float through his mind.

“Truly my prince?” his betrothed asks sounding surprised. “I would have thought King’s Landing would have held more appeal to someone such as yourself?”

Joffrey looks at his betrothed a moment and then replies. “King’s Landing has its benefits that much is true. But there is something nice and simplistic about Winterfell that lends itself well to my own thoughts and mind. I have found a sense of peace here that I did not find in King’s Landing. That could of course be because I have finally met you. The greatest beauty in all of Westeros.”

His betrothed blushes then, her cheeks going a bright red and Joffrey smiles. “You flatter me Your Grace. But I am sure there are more beautiful maidens than I in King’s Landing. Your own sister is very beautiful.”

Joffrey sees that there is a stray piece of hair across his betrothed’s face and he moves to move it from her face, putting it behind her ear. He whispers. “She is pretty that is true, and there are girls in King’s Landing are pretty, but there are none who are as beautiful nor as smart as you my lady.”

His betrothed blushes something fierce then, and she whispers. “You honour me my prince. I know that you are the most handsome man I have ever seen. And that is no word of a lie. I look forward to being your wife very much so.”

His betrothed has leaned in very close now, so close that they are almost touching with their noses. His heart hammering, Joffrey leans in and presses his lips to hers, thankfully she kisses him back. It is a soft kiss, his first one, and it is something of an experience. They pull away after a little while and Joffrey sees that his betrothed is blushing even more than she was before, her eyes are somewhat wide, her breathing heavy. “I hope that did not disappoint.” Joffrey says, suddenly finding that he wishes to impress her.

His betrothed gives him a shy smile and then she bites her lip before replying. “It was perfect my prince. I would not mind if we were to do it again.”

Taking the cue Joffrey smiles and leans in and kisses her once more. This time their kiss is something else, something different, and he feels a fire, begin to fill him, it is something different. Something different to what he knows and has read of such things. He deepens the kiss until they are both moaning, until they have to pull apart for air. “And that?” he asks.

His betrothed grins then. “Very good. Very, very good my prince.”

Joffrey leans back then and appraises his betrothed, she bites her lip as she does so, and he finds that she is very attractive. More so than her brother, and that is saying something. He looks at her a moment longer and then says. “Tell me my lady, how would you feel about having two weddings?”

He does not know why he asks such a question and yet something makes him ask. His betrothed looks surprised and it shows in her voice. “Two weddings? Would the second one be here in Winterfell?”

Joffrey nods. “It does only make sense. One wedding here in Winterfell to appease your father’s bannermen. And one marriage in King’s Landing for the rest of the realm. It would strengthen ties and show that we are not going to forget where you come from my lady. It is an important thing to do.”

His betrothed looks thoughtful for a moment and then she asks. “And do you think our families will agree to such a thing? It would such short notice would it not?”

Joffrey looks at her a moment and then says. “I would not think so. After all it is a simple ceremony for the north is it not? Merely standing in front of the heart tree and saying our vows. It would be a simple enough thing, and something I am sure both our fathers would see the sense in it.”

His betrothed nods. “I think I would like that my prince, I would like that a lot.”

* * *

 

**Queen Cersei Baratheon**

The words of the frog’s prophecy echoed in her mind, torturing her almost daily, she could not escape form them as she slept, nor could she escape from them at all. They were constantly in her thoughts, brought about by seeing the Stark girl. Starks, they had been the bane of her life since she had married Robert Baratheon. The fat oaf had cried out his dead betrothed’s name during their wedding night, and now her son was determined to marry one. It seemed she would never escape the damned wolves, and yet she was determined to ensure the girl never fulfilled the prophecy she could not allow that.

She looks at her brother who is sat beside her as she breaks her fast, her children gone out somewhere with the Starks. She looks around briefly before speaking. “I will not allow my son to marry the Stark girl in this place. It will not be done, for it is not proper and would defile everything that I have worked for.”

Her brother nods. “What do you intend to do? The king has given his consent for such a thing, and the ravens have already been sent out. To stop the wedding you will need to convince Joffrey to have a change of heart, and we both know that is not going to happen.”

Cersei grimaces. “Something serious shall need to be done, but what I do not know. There are some things that must needs be avoided. We cannot cause a serious offense to the Starks. But I do suspect that Eddard Stark is not too happy with this marriage happening now. Especially if what my oaf of a husband says is true.”

Her brother nods. “Perhaps exploiting that could be of use? It is obvious that Stark does not like us, and his daughter has not even truly become a maiden grown yet. We could appeal to him to ensure this is held off for a time?”

“I do not think that will work. Stark has little to no backbone when it comes to my husband. He will do as his daughter and Robert ask of him. Unless there is some overtly pressing reason for him to postpone the wedding it will go ahead and then things will be worse for us all.” Cersei replies.

“There is the trouble up at the wall. If the king and Lord Stark believe that to be a very pressing matter then they might well decide to postpone the wedding until such a time that things have been settled there.” her brother suggests.

Before she can reply a voice sounds from near the door. “What are you two plotting at this ungodly hour?”

Cersei looks up to see the bedraggled form of her brother standing there. “And where have you been this past night? With yet another whore, shaming our house and good name?”

Her brother snorts then. “Our good name? I think you would find it hard to bring our name down even lower than it currently is in the north sweet sister. Our father is not well remembered here nor is he well liked.”

Cersei’s eyes narrow as she looks at her brother. “And since when has a lion ever concerned itself with the opinion of sheep, or for this matter wolves? In the natural order of things we are the ones who kill the wolves and take the spoils.”

The dwarf snorts and she feels anger grow within her. “Ah dear sister, once again you fail to see the smartness behind your son’s suggestion. And it is this that prevents you from being respected.”

“What in the name of the seven are you speaking about imp?” Cersei snaps.

“Joffrey’s decision to marry Lady Sansa here in the north as well in King’s Landing shows the boy has some sense in that head of his.” Her brother says.

Cersei looks at her brother dumbfounded. “He is giving the northmen an excuse to think that we are weak. Allowing them to have that stupid wedding ceremony here, is merely showing them that they are considered equal to us. They are not equal to us.”

She sees her brother put his head into his hands and her own tense in anger. “You are blinded by prejudice and do not see where the smartness comes into this.”

“Then explain it to me instead of merely insulting me you fool.” Cersei snaps.

Her brother looks at her as if surprised she exists. His voice is slow and concise. “If you need me to explain it to you sweet sister, then perhaps you are not worth the title you cling to so desperately.” With that he turns and walks out of the room.

Cersei is seething silently. Frustrated with how things are progressing and worrying over whether or not the prophecy will come true. She looks at her brother and says. “How much would it take for you to end him?”

Jaime looks at her a pained look on his face. “I cannot do that for you sister. I would do anything for you, but not this. Not this, this is a crime that I am not willing to commit.”

Cersei looks at her brother and merely says. “Then you are not worth the sword you wield.” With that she stands up and walks out of the room, leaving her brother seated at the table. She walks, her anger filling her with purpose. She will not be stopped, she has worked for too long to allow such a thing to come to pass. For too long has the prophecy haunted her, she will not allow the Stark girl to fulfil it.

She walks and walks, her anger filling her with a single purpose. The Stark girl will never make it to King’s Landing, she does not care what it brings, and she will prevent the prophecy from coming true. Even if it kills her, she will not allow such a thing to come to pass. She will not lose her position, not to some half northern savage. 


	19. Domination

**5 th Month of 298 A.C. Winterfell**

**Lord Eddard Stark**

He was not sure he felt entirely comfortable with how quickly things were progressing. His daughter and Prince Joffrey had asked that they be wed in the northern way whilst here in Winterfell. The crown prince had argued, that it would make it far easier than expecting the whole of the family to come south for the event later on in King’s Landing, and truth be told, Ned could see the reasoning behind it. And yet there was something about the request that made him feel slightly awkward, slightly off. There was something different about the crown prince, there was more joviality in his actions and words, there was not as much of the sullenness that he had displayed earlier. It was a frightening change, and yet one that was mirrored in Ned’s own sons.

And yet there were other problems that needed to be deal with first and foremost. The Night’s Watch was still without a commander, and Ned knew that sooner or later he would need to intervene, and so he had asked his brother to come and attend his meeting with Robert as well as Maester Luwin. They were all tired, and had been discussing the matter for many hours, and yet it seemed none could reach an agreement. “Are you certain that you do not wish to stand for the position Ben? I am sure there are those who would feel comfortable with the status quo being maintained.”

“And I am telling you the vast majority of my sworn brothers would rather have it be someone who was not a Stark. They wish to break from Winterfell’s influence, and yet some are too scared to outright say it. They would rather I did not stand so they did not need to formally voice their problems with it.” his brother replies.

“Then they are cravens, not deserving to be a member of such a prestigious order.” The king says, his words clear despite the wine in front of him.

Ned looks at the king then and says softly. “I would not call it prestigious Your Grace, the night’s watch is not what it once was, it has fallen by the wayside in light of recent struggles throughout the realm. Ever since the Targaryens came to power, it has fallen in importance.”

His friend looks at him a moment and then says. “And you are the Warden of the North. The Night’s Watch is in the north is it not? Why have you and your family not been aiding the watch, and trying to ensure that it has not fallen down?”

“We have been trying to do our best Your Grace. And yet we cannot be the only ones doing it. The Men of the Watch, might not be the most ideal of citizens and yet they are a proud people. It is not often that the Lord Commander will come and ask for aid. Jeor was one such man and he is dead. The kingdoms must know that we cannot alone sustain this.” Ned replies

“Then what do we do? We cannot afford for the Watch to be leaderless for much longer, otherwise there are other institutions that will begin getting ideas. Already before leaving King’s Landing there was word that the Faith has begun to chafe under the High Septon. I cannot allow this to stand.” The king grumbles.

Ned looks at his friend, and then looks at his brother and says. “Who would you vote for Benjen? If the choice was yours, which it still is, who would you choose to be Lord Commander?”

His brother goes silent then, his face covered with deep thought. After what seems an age, Benjen speaks. “I would not choose any of the men who have put themselves forward. Marsh is a man who has no spine and would be quickly engrossed within one faction or another. Thorne is a man who does not know how to give up a grudge, as for Denys Mallister, he is a man past his prime. Cotter Pyke might be worth considering if he were not Ironborn.”

Ned considers this, his heart sinking. None of the men mentioned would unite all the factions within the Watch. Once more he looks at his brother and wonders why his brother is shying away from standing for election. There is some secret he holds, something deeper than that, that Ned already knows, the secret that binds them together. He wishes he could find out what it is, and yet he knows that it is not likely to come. Sighing he says. “Then we find ourselves stuck. There must be some other course we can take.”

They are all silent then, considering the options before them. There is one solution that springs to mind, but it does not sit comfortably with Ned, it would be far too much of a break from tradition to truly work. There are too many things that could go wrong with such a thing. And yet when his brother speaks, he breathes a sigh of relief, for he is not the only one to be thinking it. “Perhaps it would be best if the Watch was merely brought into the realm proper.” His brother pauses a moment and then says. “The watch has become a shadow of its former self, a place without dignity and without honour. It is a burden, a burden that is not necessary anymore. It would be better to take it and the lands it holds within the realm of the north and ensure that it becomes a proper part of the realm.”

Ned begins to speak, when the king speaks. “An interesting proposition, and one that does make the most sense. Though one does wonder what we would do with all those prisoners and thieves who are normally sent to the Wall. Where would they go if the wall is now part of the north?”

Before either he or his brother can speak, a loud scream hits them, and Ned feels something in his gut drop.

* * *

 

**Sansa Stark**

Sansa sat reading through her books on King’s Landing, she did not normally do this, but she wanted to impress Prince Joffrey, and she wanted something to talk to him about. Speaking about the north was all well and good, but it was King’s Landing that was to be their home, and she wanted to know more about the place. As she looked through the pages describing the construction of the Great Sept of Baelor, her door opened and before she knew what was happening someone had grabbed her hair and was pulling her up.

Her hair hurt, and there were tears in her eyes, she wanted to scream but something inside her wouldn’t allow her to. And then she heard the heavy breathing, and heard a voice. “Bitch. What do you think you are trying to do? Making my son have a northern wedding. What are you?”

The queen it seemed had come to drag her somewhere, and yet Sansa did not know why she was here. “I….I do not know what you mean Your Grace.”

The queen pulls harder on her hair. “Do not lie to me girl. I know you are plotting something. And you intend to use my son as the means by which to do it. You Starks, you never learn do you? You do not thrive in the south, you only die.”

“Your Grace, please you are hurting me, you are hurting me. Please stop it Your Grace.” Sansa pleads.

The queen does not stop though, instead her grip merely tightens on Sansa’s hair, Sansa’s eyes are watering now, and she can feel the pain coursing through her body. The queen drags her out of her room and snarls. “I will not allow you to take my place. I am the queen, not you. Do you understand me? I am the queen.”

“I know Your Grace. Please let go of me, you are hurting me.” Sansa pleads.

“Hurting you?” the queen snarls. “You do not know pain girl. You do not know pain, you have never known pain. And it is time for you to feel that pain. You will not usurp me.”

Sansa does not know what the queen is speaking of, she merely knows that her head is hurting, and her eyes are watering something fierce. Her heart is hammering inside her chest. Gods she is so scared. “Please Your Grace….” She whimpers.

The queen it seems does not hear her, and instead begins muttering to herself. “So this is the brat who is supposed to bring me down? I do not think so, I will not allow this to happen. Never again will this happen. It is time for things to change. I should have done this much sooner. The frog’s prophecy must not come true. I will not allow that to happen. No, I should have never allowed this damnable betrothal to be made.”

Sansa is not sure she knows what the queen is on about, but she does know that her heart is hammering in her chest, and that her eyes are watering from the pain that the Queen’s grip is exerting on her. “Please Your Grace. I do not know what you are speaking of, and I promise only to be a good wife to Prince Joffrey. Please let go, you are hurting me.”

The queen it seems has heard her plea, for they stop walking, or rather in this case the queen has stopped dragging her, and instead throws her so that she hits the wall. They have not gone far, but the corridors are deserted. The queen looks at her, her eyes mad, and her voice is soft, a dangerous whisper. “You are a threat to me, and all that I have worked for. You must be removed before we can move forward with our plans.”

Sansa looks at the queen terrified, her heart is thumping in her chest, she is sweating. “Your Grace?” she questions nervously.

The queen is walking toward her now, her voice perfectly calm. “Come now sweetling, it is wrong to lie to your queen. You know just as well as I do, that this whole wedding in the north was your idea. If you admit it to me, I might spare you.”

“Your Grace, I promise you, I do not know what you are speaking of. Prince Joffrey suggested that we get married in the north.” Sansa says, anger and fear battling one another inside of her.

The queen advances on her, drawing something out of her sleeves. Her eyes are wild, though her voice is soft. “Do not lie to me Sansa. I know you, your type. You lie and you bat your eyelids and yet you do not focus on the thing right in front of you. You will die for this treason.”

Sansa looks at the queen, her eyes glinting with fear, she is terrified, and yet she cannot move. Somewhere, off in the distance she knows there are people coming, she can feel Lady coming, and yet she does not move, she does not speak. She remains silent as the queen comes toward her, whatever it is she is trying to pull out coming further and further out of her sleeve. Sansa closes her eyes then, and prays. The next thing she hears is a scream, a blood curdling scream, and when she opens her eyes, Lady is standing on top of the Queen, her teeth bared in a growl. And there is her prince. His eyes livid. “What in the name of the seven hells are you doing mother?” the crown prince asks.

The queen is breathing heavily, and Sansa can hear the sound of people approaching. “I was trying to right an old wrong.” The queen snaps. “Get this damned wolf off of me.”

The crown prince has moved to her now and takes her into his arms. “You are unharmed my lady?” the crown prince asks her. Sansa nods, afraid to speak. The crown prince smiles tentatively at her and kisses the top of her head. He then turns to look at his mother, still pinned underneath Lady. “Lady, move.” Sansa watches as her direwolf, their direwolf really, moves of the queen and bounds towards them, coming to rest by her side. “You are a disgrace mother. Ser Jaime,” the crown prince calls, and Sansa is surprised to see Ser Jaime appear out of the shadows. “See to it that my mother is seen to her chambers. I shall need to speak with Lord Stark and my father.” The knight nods and leads the angry queen away, Sansa looks at her betrothed and he merely whispers. “I am sorry, so very sorry about that my love.”


	20. Damaged Goods

**5 th Month of 298 A.C. Winterfell**

**Prince Joffrey Baratheon**

Holding his betrothed close to him, watching his uncle drag his mother away, Joffrey is filled with a rage, a white hot rage. It seems his mother has finally snapped, something he had always thought might happen, has happened. He should feel scared, but he stopped being scared of his mother a long time ago. Right now, he has no desire to do anything with her, his attention is fixed on ensuring Sansa is safe. And so he looks down at her and asks. “You are okay my love?” he finds that he means the words, and that in itself is a startling revelation for him.

His betrothed nods, her head moving against his chest. “I am merely surprised my prince. Your mother scared me.”

“I know and for that I am truly sorry. It seems something has become of my mother’s sanity, it has left her and now we are left to clean up the mess.” Joffrey says trying to keep his anger under control. “Why did she come after you my love?”

Lady is next to Sansa now, rubbing her head reassuringly against her mistress’ leg. His betrothed is silent a moment and then she says. “She thinks I tricked you into making us have a wedding here. She thinks it is part of some plot that my family has against her and you.”

Hearing this Joffrey groans, that damned prophecy again, the words which he knows have haunted his mother for years. “Did she say why she thought these lies were truths?” Joffrey asks.

His betrothed shakes her head. “Not in a way that makes sense. She kept on muttering about preventing something from coming to be. About stopping my family from destroying hers. I did not understand it.”

Joffrey nods, he understands it, his mother has been torn by her obsession it seems. Perhaps finding the scroll triggered this, he does not know, his grandfather did warn him something like this could have happened. And yet, for it to happen now, and here? Gods above, his mother will have to be removed now. Sighing, he looks back at his betrothed and asks. “Where do you wish to go now my love? We do not have to remain within this corridor.”

His betrothed is silent a moment and then she says. “I do not mind my prince, so long as we move away from here.” He sees Sansa look at where his mother had been led to, and sees her bite her lip in worry.

Nodding he removes himself from her, smiling slightly at her whine of protest before draping his arm around her shoulders and walking with her towards her father’s solar. He looks behind and sees Sandor Clegane following behind an ever silent shadow. The man nods and Joffrey nods his own thanks. Turning back to his betrothed, he sees her looking at him, a look of some emotion on her face he does not know what. “What is it my love?” he asks her.

She smiles then, and his heart begins beating a lot quicker. “That, that term, it is nice to hear from you my prince, my love,” she falters a moment and then begins giggling. “Why do you call me that?”

Surprised by the question, Joffrey stutters an answer. “I…I…I thought that was what husband and wife call one another. We are to be married soon, I thought it only proper.” He pauses and then seeing the look on her face says softly. “And because you are…you are my love. Why? Do you not want me to call you it?”

The Lady Sansa quickly shakes her head and says. “No, no, it is not that. It, is a surprise is all. That you would feel the same way as I do.”

Joffrey looks at her confused. “What do you mean by that my lady?”

“It is only that, you seem so proper and so formal most of the time, I did not think you would feel such things for me now. We have only known each other a short time. I thought I was being silly, to feel as I do for you.” His betrothed says quickly.

Joffrey looks at her confused, but before he can speak, he sees his father and Lord Eddard walking towards them, a concerned expression on both their faces. “Joffrey lad,” his father says. “What happened? We heard screaming?”

Joffrey looks at Sansa then, and when she nods slightly he turns back to his father and says. “Mother tried to harm Lady Sansa. The screaming you heard was when I set Lady Sansa’s direwolf on mother to stop her from harming my betrothed.”

There is a moment’s silence and then both Lord Stark and Joffrey’s father speak at the same time. “You set a direwolf on the Queen?” “Your mother did what?”

Looking between both men, he is not sure whether they believe him or not, but he continues on regardless. “I was walking to see Lady Sansa, so that we could go on a walk of the gardens when I came across mother trying to harm her. Sansa was pinned against the wall, her eyes wide with fright, I did the first thing that came to mind.”

There is a moment’s silence and then Lord Stark speaks. “And your first thought was to set my daughter’s direwolf onto the Queen? How were you able to do such a thing?”

Joffrey looks at Lord Stark a moment and then shrugs. “I do not know how, I just said something and she did as I asked. I was more concerned with trying to ensure my mother did nothing foolish.”

Lord Stark nods and then turns to his daughter and asks. “What happened Sansa, why did the queen try to attack you?”

There is a moment’s silence as they all look at Sansa, and then Joffrey says. “Perhaps we had best discuss this inside your solar my lord? We are not far from there after all.”

Lord Stark nods and says. “Of course, follow me.” With that he turns and walks away, Joffrey’s father by his side, Joffrey his arm still around Sansa follows.

* * *

 

**Lord Eddard Stark**

As he walks back to his solar, Robert, the crown prince and Sansa following, his thoughts are a mess. The queen tried to attack his daughter? By the gods why would she do such a thing? And then he thinks about it, and he wonders if perhaps this is what Lysa was meaning when she warned Cat in her letter, are the Lannisters trying to corrupt them from within and then spring onto them in surprise? He does not know, and the thought of his daughter being attacked makes him angrier than he perhaps would ever be able to express. And so when they enter his solar he and Robert sit down, whilst the crown prince who he notices still has his arm around Sansa, and his daughter remain standing.

After a moment, he gathers his thoughts and then looks at his daughter and asks as softly as he can. “Well Sansa, why did the queen try to attack you?”

His daughter is silent and then she says. “She came into my room and pulled my hair, saying something about not allowing me to corrupt Prince Joffrey. She kept pulling my hair and dragged me out of my room, saying she would not allow me and our family to destroy her family.”

Ned feels his gut sink, his suspicions begin to grow now. “Did she say why she had such fears?”

His daughter looks at him askance, as if she cannot believe he is asking her these questions. She swallows and then says. “Because she believed that I had forced Prince Joffrey to ensure we had a marriage here in the north. She seems to think we mean to upstage her and the Lannisters.”

The king snorts. “That would be no bad thing, gods alone know the lions are trouble enough.”

Ned looks at his friend a moment and then turns back to his daughter. “And what happened after Prince Joffrey and Lady came to your aid sweetling?”

His daughter is silent a moment and then she says. “Prince Joffrey asked Ser Jaime to take the Queen away, and that we would come to find you.”

Ned looks at Robert then, so Ser Jaime had been there, and yet had done nothing to stop the Queen’s attack on his daughter? Ned speaks then. “You are certain it was Ser Jaime and not someone else? Where had he been?”

Ned sees his daughter look at the crown prince and then back to him. “He came from the shadows father. I do not know where he had been, but he appeared when Prince Joffrey came. And so he did take the queen away.”

An uneasy silence falls on the solar then, and then the king speaks. “Very well. We have heard what you have to say my lady, Joffrey escort the Lady Sansa to where her mother is. We shall speak on this matter later. For now I and Lord Eddard have matters to discuss.”

Ned is surprised by the tone of authority in the king’s voice, and is surprised to see the beginning of that famous temper in him as well. As the crown prince and Sansa bow and walk out of the room, Ned realises the crown prince had not moved his arm from Sansa’s shoulder throughout that whole time. Once they are gone, Ned looks at the king and asks. “What do you wish to do Your Grace?”

The king sighs deeply. “I want to kill her and her sot of a brother. But I dare not do something that would anger Tywin. Gods above Ned, what was she doing? Why did she come after your daughter? And what is this madness that she spoke of?”

Ned looks at the king, hesitating over whether or not to tell him of the letter that came from Lysa, he decides against it. “I do not know Your Grace. But I fear something must be done, Queen Cersei has shown herself to be a danger to not only herself but others as well. Perhaps sending her away would do the job?”

The king shakes his head. “No, she would only come back claiming some grievance. The only sure-fire way is to either kill her or to have our marriage annulled. I cannot have her around my children anymore.”

Ned looks at the king and says. “Surely, that would only enrage Tywin Lannister more Your Grace? You, yourself have said that you do not trust the man, and that giving him any reason to do something against you would be unwise. Annulling your marriage might be a smart move, but having the woman killed? That is not smart.”

“She tried to kill your daughter Ned!” his friend bellows. “How can you be so calm about this?”

At the accusation, Ned feels his own blood rise at this. “Calm? I am not calm, I want to go and kill her myself. But I know what that would bring. By the gods Robert, we cannot go charging in on this. We must do something smart. Give me a chance to duel the Kingslayer, for the Queen’s life, and I will do it.” as he says the words he realises that this is what he wants, to kill the Kingslayer and then the queen, and remove any possible threat to Robert.

He looks at his friend then, and sees something akin to a glint in Robert’s eyes. “How willing are you to do such a thing? You are aware that Cersei will likely deny what we accuse her of.”

Ned looks at the king and says. “She can deny it all she wants, we have the only two witnesses that matter. No one will disagree with the crown prince.”

“She will demand a trial by combat, banking on her brother to win it for her.” The king says.

Ned looks at his friend, his eyes hard. “I know, let her do that I say. It will make it only that much more sweet when it comes time for judgement to be passed.”

The king claps his hands then. “Then let it be done.”

 

 


	21. Trial

**5 th Month of 298 A.C. Winterfell**

**Queen Cersei Baratheon**

A trial, a trial, a damned trial, that was what she was being led toward. She could not believe, she a Queen of Westeros, was being tried for something that should see her being thanked for. The Stark girl was the threat here, not her, Cersei had only done as she hoped would have ended the threat of the prophecy. The girl was sat there next to her mother , seemed to be safe and sound. It grated on her, it angered her that the girl was not down here waiting to answer for the crimes that she herself had committed. It angered her that the girl seemed to be safe and sound, whilst she was going to be put on trial for something that was not a crime. By the gods, they were cruel, so very cruel, to allow the girl to get away whilst she was here.

The great hall of Winterfell is teeming with people, lords and ladies, great and small alike have come here to witness this trial. Anger boils inside her at this thought, something that she feels she is justified in feeling. That the Starks would have the audacity to bring their lords here, gods she hopes her father is made aware of this. She looks at the high table where her fat oaf of a husband the king and the other two judges, Lord Wyman Manderly another fat man, and Lord Eddard Stark  are seated. The whispering of the crowd falls silent as her husband opens his mouth.

Her husband speaks. “Thank you all for coming. Before us we have Queen Cersei Baratheon, my lady wife, and mother to my children. My Queen, do you know why you are here and the accusations brought before you?”

Cersei looks at her husband anger flowing through her. “I know the accusations are false and without base. A plan by the Starks to overthrow me and my family to ensnare you to their false ways.” A murmur of anger ripple across the hall at this.

“And why do you think these accusations are false my queen? Do you deny attacking the Lady Sansa, your son’s betrothed within her own home and coming close to killing her?” her husband asks.

Cersei feels anger rise inside her. “No I do not deny those charges, but there is a valid reason for my doing so.”

 “And what reasons are these my queen? What you have done is a grave offense.” Her husband says.

“She was plotting to have her family brought within the sphere of court. She was trying to threaten my position. The whole reason she wanted to marry within Winterfell to ensure that the north’s influence was predominant.” Cersei snarls.

There is a whisper around the hall, and then Lord Stark speaks. “And what proof do you have for these accusations my queen?”

Cersei looks at the man and says. “My eyes and ears know when there are plots going on my lord. And your good sister was most apparent in her hatred of my family. It does not take a wise man to know that similar hatreds would exist here. All know of your hatred of my father.”

There are more whisperings about the court, but they fall silent when her husband speaks. “You do not have enough proof to be making these accusations Cersei. Now we shall hear from the victim herself. Lady Sansa if you would come forward to speak please.”

The hall begins whispering once more as the Lady Sansa walks down, Cersei glowers at the girl but she does not cower, instead she holds her head up high and says. “Thank you for asking me here today Your Grace. I promise to tell the truth and nothing but the truth.”

Cersei sees her husband nod appreciatively. “Very good my lady. Now would you please tell us what happened between you and the Queen?”

Cersei looks at the girl and sees that there is a fire in the girl’s eyes as she speaks. “I was in my own room minding my own business, when the Queen came barging into my room, demanding I answer for my crimes. I did not know what she was speaking of and said as much to her. She did not take that well and began screaming and threatening me, and as such she dragged me by my hair and pulled me out of my room. All the while she was muttering about how she would not allow me to do something that would harm her. I did not know what she was speaking of, nor what would happen to me. I was terrified, and then I was saved by Prince Joffrey.”

There is a murmur at this, and Cersei feels her heart drop. Her son, her sweet son who has turned on her. Gods where did she go wrong. Her husband speaks then his tone ominous. “And what happened when Prince Joffrey came?”

“He ordered Ser Jaime to escort the Queen back to her chambers and comforted me and ensured I was well, he then led me to my father’s solar where we spoke to you, Your Grace.” The girl says, her voice beginning to shake.

“Why do you not speak of how your direwolf attacked me Sansa?” Cersei snarls.

There is some murmuring amongst the hall then, but the king speaks. “Enough. Joffrey come forth and speak.”

Her son walks down then, his hair glittering golden in the light. He is a bull her son, all muscle, some have said he looks like Maegor the Cruel from the portraits in the Red Keep. She wonders, perhaps she did not spend enough time with him when he was younger, for she knows the words he will speak before he speaks them. Her son looks at her a moment, and there is such loathing in his eyes she feels her heart break. Her son takes a breath and then says. “I can confirm what Lady Sansa has says Your Grace. I came upon my mother the Queen verbally and physically attacking the lady without cause for provocation. She only stopped when I intervened, otherwise I fear to think of what might have happened otherwise.”

She looks at her son and feels a deep sadness envelop her person at his betrayal, as well as a sense of anger toward him for this. Her husband merely looks at her son for a moment before asking. “And what were you doing walking toward the Lady Sansa’s room?”

Her son looks at the king a moment and then says. “I was going to ask if she wanted to go for a walk of the gardens Your Grace.”

Her husband merely nods and then turns to her. “How do you respond my Queen?”

Cersei is silent a long moment, allowing the crowd gathered in the hall to begin muttering amongst themselves, before she says. “I believe these accusations to be false. But seeing as you will not listen to sense, I demand for the Gods to judge my innocence. I demand a trial by combat.”

* * *

 

**Ser Jaime Lannister**

The hall was muttering, there was a sense of something big about to happen. Jaime, who had been standing with his fellow Kingsguard as the trial had progressed had felt a sense of growing unease as his sister had begun speaking. She was not speaking clearly, and had not truly seemed to make sense. Something was wrong, and he did not know what. But he had not hesitated when she had named him her champion. Lord Stark, the old man was to be fighting for his daughter, and Jaime was confident he would be able to beat the man, he was after all the best swordsman in the realm. As he moved toward the centre of the great hall, he looks at Stark, to see him stretching, he smiles to himself thinking of how Stark will be easy to beat. His thoughts stop for a moment as he looks toward the high table where the king is sat, the man is not drunk surprisingly, but there is an ire to him that Jaime has never seen before. His voice is loud and clear when he says. “Now, the terms of this trial are simple, you fight until one surrenders. No killing one another. Whoever wins this fight, the person they are fighting for will see their claims validated in the eyes of the gods. Should Ser Jaime win, then Queen Cersei is acquitted of all crimes, and should Lord Eddard win, well then Queen Cersei shall face the judgement of Lord Stark. Is that agreeable?” Jaime nods and sees Stark nod. The king pauses a moment and then says. “Then begin.”

Jaime and Stark both bow before the king before moving back to take their positions. He looks at Stark and senses that there is an anger within the man, an anger that might make him a more difficult proposition than he had first thought. The man draws his sword, the sword Ice, Jaime looks at it and feels envy as he pulls his own sword out of its sheath, the thing glinting in the light. They circle one another, neither willing to break speed first, his heart is hammering in his chest, for he knows what rests on this fight. There is a moment’s pause and then Jaime his patience running out lunges. Stark moves back and Jaime’s sword hits the ground, he quickly pulls back and then finds himself facing a barrage of assault from Stark. It is as if the man is possessed, swinging his sword throwing his weight behind the swings. Jaime blocks a few of them, and finds himself wincing as the sword strikes his armour the rest of the time. Stark does not seem to be relenting, his swings come in force now, pushing Jaime further and further back in the hall. He can hear the murmuring of the northern lords, as they sense something else. Jaime hears his father’s voice, stern and uncompromising and in that he finds the strength to feint and then begin his own series of attacks.

Stark might be bigger and stronger, but Jaime is quicker, and so he uses that to his advantage. Ducking and feinting he pushes Stark back to where he feels most comfortable and then with a swing and a miss he begins the process of destroying the man’s defences. He ducks and feints, swings and slashes, manoeuvring around the room to the point where his feet can begin the dance of war. Jaime swings his sword and hears the screech of steel on steel, a sound he thought he would never hear once more, and yet it is music to his ears. The swords dance around one another, singing for their owners. Jaime begins pushing through the man’s defences, swinging and slashing, he grins as he sees dents begin to appear in Stark’s armour, the face of the man in front grimacing in pain. Gods this is a good feeling, the ability to push through the man’s defences is something Jaime relishes. His sword comes away denting the man’s armour and shedding blood. Now this would normally mean the end of the duel and a victory for him, but he knows he needs to make Stark surrender, and so he keeps hammering away. Stark it seems is not tiring though, instead he continues pushing through and fighting back. Jaime’s own body is covered with dents and bruises, and he knows that sooner or later one will have to give in, and yet he is determined not to be that person. On they go, dancing around one another, slicing and slashing, blood being drawn, Jaime knows the old man is tiring, for he himself is also beginning to tire, and yet still they continue.

His sword is slick with blood, and so the rush continues, fighting through the pain of his wounds, he swings and slashes, cutting and hacking. Jaime is determined not to fall foul of this fight, not now, not to the man who killed Ser Arthur. It is that thought that enters his mind and makes him wonder if perhaps this is the right move to make. Surely fighting Stark is not a good idea, the doubt begins creeping inside his mind and mistakes are made. He misses a feint from Stark and finds a searing pain begin to enter his mind. Gods it hurts, the pain and the agony, his thoughts begin to blur into one another as the fear of this thing he is fighting begins to push its way through. Stark begins to overwhelm him, and his sword begins to fly from his hand. Jaime looks at Stark, and Stark looks back at him and then they are lunging at one another. Men fighting in a brawl where swords might have been better, he feels fists hitting him again and again, his face beginning to bleed through, he finds his arms are unable to rise to the challenge and slowly but surely the will to keep fighting disappears. His voice his hoarse when he says. “Surrender, I surrender.”

Stark hits him once more before standing up then. Jaime is left lying on the ground, his face a blur, his mind a blur, unable to know clearly where he is. He does not hear the judgement but he knows it is bad when he hears his sister scream. He sighs then, for he knows he has failed. By the gods he has failed once more.


	22. Judgement

**5 th Month of 298 A.C. Winterfell**

**Lord Eddard Stark**

It feels good seeing Jaime Lannister writhing underneath him, the man and his smugness had been grating on Ned for a long time. And now his fists are stained red with the man’s blood, god it feels good to have done that. The man’s surrender has come at the most opportune moment, had he not verbalised it, Ned knows he would have killed the man there and then, and there is no honour in killing a defenceless man, even if he is a Lannister. Standing back, he allows the Kingslayer to be raised up, whilst the Queen looks at him murder in her eyes. Ned ignores her and turns to look at the King. His friend looks at him a straight look on his face for once. “You have won the fight Lord Stark, what is your decision?”

Ned considers for a moment, all the emotions of the past few days running through his mind as he considers, eventually he says. “I find Queen Cersei guilty of her crimes, as the gods have decided. And though I could have her killed for the crimes she has committed, I will choose another punishment, a more suitable punishment. I will banish her from my home and from the north. Should she step foot here in the north whilst I or my heirs still live, she shall die.”

There is a lot of talk then, as his lords consider what it is he has just done and decided. Robert looks at him a long moment before replying. “Lord Stark has spoken, as the winner of this trial, his judgement stands. Queen Cersei, you are here by banished from the north on pain of death.”

“You cannot do this to me!” the queen screams. “I am the queen!”

“It seems that this has been done my queen.” Robert says his gaze not moving from Ned. “Your judgement has been decided upon, now either you can leave the hall peacefully, or I shall have you forcibly removed.”

Ned sees the queen look at him a moment before her eyes flash to her brother being led out of the hall. Her shoulders sag and she says. “I will leave peacefully. But this is not over Stark. I will hound you to the ends of the seven hells, know that.”

Ned is not sure what makes him say this, but for some reason he does. “You may try Your Grace, but you will not succeed. You have brought this fate upon yourself, and it is time for you to drink from your own poisoned chalice.” With that he turns and walks away to where his daughter and wife and family are. The queen is led away and there is even more murmuring as this occurs.

The murmuring stops when Robert speaks his voice booming. “Now that, this has been decided, let us move on with other business. Lord Bolton you have come forward to present your reasons for what happened with regards to the Hornwood matter.” Ned looks at Bolton then and gets an uneasy feeling within him, Bolton is a man he does not trust, someone who he has never trusted.

The old Lord of the Dreadfort stands forward then, bows, and says. “Thank you Your Grace. I have indeed come to speak about the Hornwood matter, and to try and clear my family name of what the bastard did.”

There is more murmuring at that, as all listen in intently. Ned as Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North speaks then. “Your bastard, before he died said he was working on your orders. Tell me my lord, is this true? And if it is, why would you order such a thing?”

Lord Bolton looks at him a moment, and Ned can see the lie forming on his tongue before he speaks, and yet there is nothing he can do. “I would not order such a thing my lord. I have always believed in a quiet land and a peaceful people. I would not dare disturb that saying for anything. My bastard was always uncontrollable, and as such it was a blessing when he died, for that was the revenge I had so desired for Domeric’s murder.”

Domeric, Bolton’s heir, and a man whom Ned had wondered about for many years, he remembers word coming of the boy’s birth and the tidings that this could have brought, and yet the boy has been dead for a year now, and Bolton never did anything, before he can speak on this though, the crown prince speaks. “My lord, Your Grace, I for one believe Lord Bolton. To attack his own son would be tantamount to sinning. And he would have no reason for ordering this attack on the Hornwoods, not with our party here. It makes more sense if this was just simply a random attack of a mad man.”

A strange look passes between Bolton and the crown prince, one that Ned wonders at but before he can say anything, Robert speaks. “And what of the Hornwood boy? Is he well?”

Ned speaks. “He seems to be ailing Your Grace. From what my maester has told me, something is wrong with him, and yet we cannot find a way to cure him. It is most odd indeed.”

The king nods. “Very well then, see to it as best you can, and should something happen to the boy, well then Ned it is for you to decide what be done here. Now is there much more that we must needs discuss?”

Ned shakes his head. “There is not Your Grace.”

Robert stands then. “Very well, this is at an end then. Let us retire to our own conversations.” With that the king walks down from his throne and leaves the great hall, Ned accompanying him. As he walks out he is certain he sees the crown prince speaking to Lord Bolton, though he cannot be sure. The thought unnerves him.

* * *

 

**Prince Joffrey Baratheon**

His mother was gone, she had left Winterfell some three days ago, leaving him with nothing more than an embrace and some whispered words about the Starks and traitors. He did not pay her any mind, she was gone and that was for the best. Where she would go he did not know, nor did he truly care, she was gone and that was all that mattered. He had watched her disappear and felt nothing but relief, for now he was free from her influence, sooner or later talk would arise over whether his father would remarry, or whether the marriage would stand, but that could wait for the nonce, for now Joffrey had bigger issues to look at.

His conversation with Bolton had been enlightening, something with which he had now gathered more information, and the tools to deal with Hornwood. Bolton himself would be dealt with when the opportunity presented itself, for now the man remained within Winterfell, a distance away from Joffrey. Joffrey did not blame him, truthfully, Bolton’s fate remained in his hands and he would be lying if he said that that did not give him a sense of power. It was thrilling, and as such he wanted it to continue for as long as possible. Right now though, he needed to test out what Bolton had told him. Jon and Robb were with him, Robb protesting most vigorously about what they were about to do.

“My prince this is not right. This is wrong, Daryn should be freed not further enslaved.” The heir to Winterfell protests.

“He is dying Robb, if the prince believes this is the best way to ensure he is healed, who are we to protest?” Jon Snow says.

“Daryn should either be allowed to die or he should be freed completely. How do we know Bolton was speaking truthfully? The man has many motives that we know nothing about.” the heir to Winterfell says.

Joffrey looks at the man and says. “You speak truly Robb, and for that I thank you. And yet I must say this, Bolton owes me his life, there is nothing he would lie about with that in mind. For now, we must see if the scroll works, otherwise there will be no point in having it. You brought the scroll as asked.”

Joffrey can hear the heir to Winterfell sigh but he dutifully brings the scroll out and hands it to him saying. “I do not think we are doing the right thing.”

Growing tired of the Stark heir’s protests, Joffrey stops a moment and turns to face him. “Do you want your friend to be better, or do you want him to die?”

The Stark heir looks torn then but he says. “I do not want him to die.”

“Do you trust me?” Joffrey asks.

“Of course my prince.” Stark says.

“Then believe me when I say this will go as planned.” Joffrey says, he then turns around and continues walking to where Hornwood is being kept. Joffrey nods to the two men on guard before entering the room, Hornwood is lying on bed sweating and gibbering. Joffrey kneels by his side. “Lord Daryn, it is I prince Joffrey, can you hear me?”

The Lord of Hornwood looks at him then through blurry eyes. “Yes….Your Grace. I know you, and I hear you. You have come to heal me as Lord Ramsay said you would.”

Joffrey is stunned for a moment, how could the bastard know this? Shaking his head a moment, to drive that thought away, Joffrey says. “Yes. I have come to free you from the shackles of his bondage. Are you able to sit up?”

The Lord of Hornwood nods. “I am not an invalid.”

“Of course not.” Joffrey replies, as the man sits up, shaking slightly.  Joffrey turns to Jon. “You have the vial?” the boy nods and hands him the vial of Bolton blood mixed with his own blood. “Drink this my lord. Once you have had this, you will be better.”

The man looks at him in suspicion. “Are you sure this will work my prince?”

“Do not question the prince Daryn. He would not lie to you.” Jon says.

Joffrey smiles a small smile to hear the fervour with which Jon speaks for him. “It is quite alright Jon, Lord Daryn is well within his rights to ask. I know you are worried, but take my word when I say that there is no reason to be. All is well, this will cure you.”

 The man is silent a moment, and Joffrey can feel his impatience beginning to get the better of him, until the man then raises the vial to his lips and drinks. He drinks it all and as Joffrey looks at him, he begins seeing the changes to the man. his skin becomes less pale and darker in tone, his eyes begin changing to a darker brown. The vial is working just as Bolton said it would. The man begins coughing slightly, and then he stops. Then he begins coughing once more, blood pouring out of his mouth as he coughs. He coughs onto the bed, and Joffrey watches, preventing Jon or Robb from doing anything to come to the man’s aid, he is curious to see how the man reacts to the vial. He watches as Hornwood begins convulsing slightly, his hands shaking, his cough becoming softer, and then his eyes roll back for a moment and he falls silent. There is a long silence then that follows this, and just as Joffrey can feel his patience run out, the man’s eyes open and he looks at Joffrey with an intent look.

Joffrey looks at the man and whispers. “Do you know who I am?”

The man nods. “You are Prince Joffrey Baratheon, and you are my master. I will do as you ask, whenever you ask.”

Joffrey nods. “Good.” When he looks back, he sees a look of hunger on both Stark boys faces, and he knows his job is nearly done.


	23. Intrigues and Weddings

**5 th Month of 298 A.C. Winterfell**

**Prince Joffrey Baratheon**

Time was slowly beginning to tick, Joffrey knew this, and he knew that there was very little time left for him to enjoy the confines of Winterfell, before what he had planned happened. It was time for the summation of all that he had worked for at Winterfell to occur. Jon Snow was his, but the Stark heir was still resisting, that was something Joffrey knew he needed to change. The bastard had been brought in with offers of glory and honour, there was something more pressing that needed to be offered to the heir for him to finally be Joffrey’s. He did not have the time to offer the man honour or glory, but he could offer him power and that was why he was here in the boy’s room speaking with him.

“You are well?” he asks, looking at the Stark heir, the man pacing backward and forward.

“Well my prince?” the boy asks. “I do not know. What you did to Daryn was not natural. We should have left him to die.”

Joffrey snorts. “Come now Robb, do not play the boy with me. We both know that you would rather have Daryn alive than dead. I saw it in your eyes when you looked at him.”

The heir to Winterfell looks around uncomfortably. “I…that was then, this is now. I do not like what he has become. He is nothing more than your puppet my prince. Surely that is not right!”

Joffrey can feel his patience beginning to run out. “And you would rather he be a Bolton slave? You know that Ramsay Snow did to him, what I have given him is a chance to win back his honour. The north cannot afford Bolton to be in power.”

Stark looks at him confused for a moment. “I…I do not understand Your Grace. Why are you so against the Boltons? Where has this northern stance come from?”

Joffrey can feel his patience thinning. “You know where it has come from Robb. You, yourself have said how you wished the north could be more powerful. Do not ask me why, the land needs to be rid of the threats to it for our plans to come to life.”

“Plans?” the Stark heir asks. “What plans?”

“The oath you swore Robb. That is what I speak of. You cannot be expected to fulfil that oath if the north is nothing more than the south’s hitting ground. The Watch will soon be part of the kingdom, you will rule from the neck to the borders. It is time we did what needed to be done to ensure there are no challenges to that.” Joffrey replies.

The Stark heir looks at him a moment, something flashing in his eyes. “And Daryn being the way he is, is good for this? How is that my prince?”

Joffrey sighs. “You have the scroll, you have seen its powers. Your lords are like puppies, they will do anything you ask of them for your approval. Why not use that and further it. The north will be going under some vast change soon enough, you will need their unanimous support in order to ensure that there is nothing that can go wrong. Daryn is but the first step in this.”

There is a hunger in Stark’s eyes, a desire for more of the same power, and Joffrey knows that slowly but surely he is getting the man firmly into his power. The man speaks then his voice soft. “What do you wish for me to do my prince?”

Joffrey smiles then. “Jon will be coming south with me when the time comes, but there are still things that must needs be done in the north. The sword must be found, once you have the sword then you will be strong, strong enough to ensure that none dare question you when the changes to the borders are made.”

The Stark heir looks at him a moment and then asks. “But where do I begin looking for the sword my prince? The last sighting of it was near Last Hearth, if the Umbers have it they would have given it over many years ago.”

“Summon your men to Winterfell for a feast Robb, show them that you are a true lord, not just some boy who is doing as his mother is telling him to do. Show them your strength and should any possess knowledge of where the sword is they will willingly give it to you. You might wonder how I know this, and it is because you are the Stark, they will do as you ask them to. And with the scroll you can ensure that they most definitely do as you want them to.” Joffrey replies, he can see the desperate hunger in the heir to Winterfell’s eyes then and he knows that one more word and the man will be his.

The Stark heir looks at him a moment and then asks. “You are certain that this will earn me the sword and their loyalty my prince?”

Joffrey clasps the man’s shoulders then and looks into his eyes. “I am certain of it Robb. I would not lie to you. You are the heir to Brandon the Builder, that sword is your birthright. Find it and the north is yours, all of it.”

Stark is silent a moment and then he bows his head. “I am yours my prince. From now until my last breath I am yours.”

Joffrey smiles and says. “Hold your head high Robb. You are the Stark in Winterfell, or you will be when I go south and your father comes south with me. You hold a position that many would kill for, use it well and ensure that nothing gets lost. We cannot afford anyone else getting the scroll or finding the sword do you understand me?”

The Stark heir looks at him, his face serious. “Of course my prince, I will ensure that all is held until you ask for it.” Joffrey clasps the man’s shoulder then and smiles. He knows then that his work is done, all he needs to do now is marry his betrothed.

\---------

**Lord Eddard Stark**

The wedding had come upon him so quickly, it was surprising. He was not sure how comfortable he felt about it all yet, and yet his daughter was happy, glowing with joy, and the crown prince seemed to be paying her attention, as if she was the only one in the entire hall. His lords and the court of King’s Landing were celebrating with all sorts of revelry, and Ned knew that perhaps he should be less dour, but there was a sense of sadness about him. His little girl was married now, she was a princess and if things continued on the sudden trajectory they had taken with Queen Cersei’s banishment she might well end up as Queen soon enough, that thought terrified Ned.  The queen would not forget what had happened here, and he knew she would not stop until she had seen her own sick form of justice served. It terrified him, but he had to hope that all was well for now.

The wedding ceremony itself had been easy enough, officiating over it in the Godswood, Ned’s throat had caught at the sight of his daughter, looking so beautiful standing there saying her vows to the crown prince. The prince himself had seemed happy enough, his frame straining against the clothes he was wearing. It had brought many memories to Ned, memories of his own marriage in Riverrun all those years ago, and of the marriage he had wanted Lyanna to have. Lyanna, his sister’s ghost hung over him more often these days. It seemed that the ghosts of the past would not leave him as of late, and yet there was a sense of relief in that.

“They look happy do they not Ned?” the king’s voice pulls him out of his thoughts.

Ned looks up and to where his friend is looking, Sansa and her husband are laughing now, feeding one another food. “Yes, they do Your Grace. Very happy.”

“I think that might well be the best decision we will ever make Ned.” The king says taking a deep sip of wine.

Ned looks at his friend. “I think it might be a smart move Your Grace, but I think it is too soon to decide whether or not this was the best decision we have ever made. There is still your wife to consider.”

His king is silent a moment and then he takes a deep sip of wine. “Cersei, pah, she would not dare do anything now. Not with her power having been so thoroughly diminished in the eyes of the court. She might try to do something, but gods above knows that she will not succeed.”

Ned looks at his friend then and asks. “How can you be so sure of that Your Grace? Tywin Lannister might not react well to his daughter being shamed in such a manner. And then there is the issue of the presence of so many Lannisters at court. How will you deal with them?”

The king looks at him a moment and then says. “Fuck the Lannisters Ned, fuck them all. They are not the ones controlling me. With Cersei gone, for the first time in years I feel free again. I feel as if I could actually live again. I will change things when I get back, and you will help me.”

Ned looks at his friend then, and he can see the hope and the anticipation in the man’s eyes, he does not have the heart to tell him no, despite his own feelings and trepidation, and so instead he says. “Of course Your Grace. It will be like old times.”

Ned sees his friend grin then. “That’s the spirit. Now enough of this maddening talk, let us speak of other things. Tell me, what do you know of Margaery Tyrell?”

The question throws Ned slightly. “Margaery Tyrell? Other than her being the daughter of the Lord of Highgarden, I do not know much more about her. Why?”

The king takes a deep sip of wine then and then says. “Because my brother Renly keeps mentioning her. You know I think, he thinks himself in love with her. The way he goes on about her, one would think so.”

Ned looks at his friend then and says cautiously. “That is interesting Your Grace. It would certainly be a nice way to counter the Lannisters. But I had thought you did not want the Tyrells anywhere near your family?”

His friend waves a hand and then says. “What was in the past was in the past. It is time to move on, they have money and they are willing to give to me. That is something one cannot say no to. If my brother wants to fuck the Tyrell girl let him fuck her I say.”

Ned looks at the king surprised a moment and then he grins. “Of course Your Grace.” They sit in silence for a moment more, and then more food and wine come, Ned knows things are beginning to build to the inevitable moment, there would be no bedding, he had seen to that, but there would be other things going on. The moment his daughter actually became a woman grown and wed, was something he was not sure he wanted to think about, and so he took another sip of wine, and looked to where Cat was speaking to one of the women of the court.

She looked beautiful, truly she did, and by the gods did he want her, but he knew that tonight, they would both be too tired to truly do anything more than hold one another. She had the glow that being with child gave her, and gods she looked just perfect. His gaze shifted over to his sons, Robb looked deep in thought, something he had been doing a lot as of late, and then there was Jon who was speaking to a giant of a man whom Ned recognised as Smalljon Umber, the heir of the Greatjon. Jon had become far more confident since the royal party had been here, and that was something Ned was grateful for. He was brought away from his musings as he heard a cheer go up, looking around he sees his daughter being led away from the hall by the crown prince. A heavy feeling settles inside him at that.


	24. Remove The Falcon

**5 th Month of 298 A.C. Moat Cailin**

**Ser Waymar Royce**

Moat Cailin was an intimidating place, even as a ruin it was intimidating. Waymar could truly understand why none of the invading armies of the south had ever been able to get into the north by invading by land. The fortress was still damn hard to take even in its ruined state. The perfect sight for a artefact with Waymar was being truthful and he knew his king felt the same. The crown prince had been silent as of late, since leaving Winterfell, and it had fallen to Waymar to keep the bastard Jon Snow occupied. He had done it willingly for his king, and he did have to admit the bastard was a lot of fun to play with.

Of course such a thought would need to push from his mind for just now. His king had summoned him, and it was his duty to be fully focussed when speaking with his king. Prince Joffrey along with the royal family had taken residence in the Children’s tower, and as such he looked regal as ever when Waymar saw him. His prince suited married life, there was a glow to him that had been lacking before, and despite whatever jealousy that Waymar might feel even he could acknowledge that. His king did not waste any time in speaking. “What have you found out?”

“Jon Snow wonders if you have forgotten about him my prince.” Waymar replies. “He knows that you are married and are devoted to your wife, which is something he is happy about. And yet despite this, he worries that you will not do as you have promised, considering the other things occupying your time.”

“His fear is misplaced, and I trust you have told him as such.” The crown prince says.

“I have Your Grace,” Waymar simpers. “I have ensured that his fears have been settled down. He knows that you have not forgotten him and that you will be acting on your promises when the time is right.”

The crown prince nods. “Good, very good. You have done well Waymar.” Waymar flushes with pride at this. “Now what word has there been from the Vale? Has your father considered my proposal?”

“He has Your Grace,” Waymar responds. “And he looks upon it favourably. There are some things that he has qualms about, such as what to do with Robert the child, but other than that he is fully invested in seeing his squire as Lord of the Vale. He believes as you do, that this is for the best. With the coming troubles, the Vale needs a man not a boy leading them.”

“A man who can be bent to my will when the time comes.” The prince intones. “I do not want someone like Jon Arryn ruling that land. Your father knows this I trust.”

“Yes Your Grace. He believes, as I do, that only the king can exert true authority. The land has grown weak under Robert the child, and his mother. They are employing policies that can only benefit one person, and one person alone.” Waymar responds.

The crown prince grimaces at this. “Baelish. The man is a snake without a head sometimes I fear. He writhes from one place to another, growing in power and influence. That Jon Arryn allowed him such a hold just goes to show how weak the man had become in his later years. My father himself is still blind to the rot that that man brings. Not for much longer.”

“You plans for Baelish Your Grace?” Waymar asks, his ears perking up at this. He does not and has never liked the master of coin. A commoner rising so high is an offense to all he stands for.

“Naturally. Baelish is a snake, but he has a weak spot, a very open weak spot, and one that the fool has made no effort to hide, to those who know how to look.” The crown prince states.

“The Tullys.” Waymar says.

“Exactly. By making those claims against the Tully women, one of whom is my own goodmother, the man has left himself open to being threatened with a great many things. My wife looks somewhat like her mother, and I know that Baelish will undoubtedly be interested in her. That is something I can use against him, and I will break him because of it.” the crown prince replies.

“Is that wise my prince?” Waymar asks. “Princess Sansa is beautiful yes, and her father is a man who is not one to be angered. We saw that with how he dealt with your mother. Would it not be better to allow Stark to finish what his brother started?”

His king looks at him a long moment then and says. “Baelish is a thorn in both our sides. But he is a man who lusts after that which he cannot have. First it was my wife’s mother, and I know it will soon be my wife. I will use this to my advantage. There are things I mean to sort out in King’s Landing when we return, and Baelish is one of them. I want you to get word to your father, tell him to be ready, for soon enough we shall have to act, and I want the Vale to be ready for the changes.”

“They will be ready Your Grace. I know they will be ready, my father has been planning for this, since the day the child was born.” Waymar replies.

His king smiles. “Good, very good.” There is a knock on the door, and they both hear the princess asking to enter. “Come in.” his king says, and there the Princess Sansa enters, looking breathtakingly beautiful.

The princess looks between them both and then says. “I hope I did not interrupt.”

The crown prince pulls her into his lap then and with a pointed look at Waymar, who feels his own jealousy begin to flare, says. “Oh of course not my love. Waymar was just leaving, were you not Waymar?”

Waymar bows. “Of course my prince. I shall do as asked.”

The crown prince nods and then says. “And ensure our friend is fully committed before we leave the north.”

“Of course.” Waymar replies, before turning and leaving the room.

* * *

 

**Lord Eddard Stark**

The dreams were haunting him again, those that had come during the rebellion and its aftermath. A bed of blood, and a broken promise. It was always the same every time he came south it always happened. He woke up in a cold sweat, desperate for Cat, only to realise she was not here. He hated this feeling, and there was a part of him that despised Robert for dragging him away from his home and his people. Still there was nothing to it, he had gotten up and gotten dressed, and now he was sat with the king looking at his friend as he ate breakfast.

“Are you sure you do not want anything Ned?” the king asks.

Ned nods. “I am quite sure Your Grace. I broke my fast earlier.”

“Enough with the Your Grace bollocks Ned, we are friends, and family now.” The king replies.

“Yes Your…Robert.” Ned says. After a moment he asks. “Why did you wish to speak to me Robert? What was so urgent it required this meeting so early in the morning?”

His friend stops his eating and drinking, and fixes him with a solid glance, and then says. “Word came from King’s Landing last night. It appears that Daenerys Targaryen has married some Dothraki Horse lord. Her brother sold her off for this horse lord’s army.”

“So… shall we send them a wedding gift?” Ned asks lightly.

Robert bangs his hand on the table. “Gods dammit it Ned, this is not a joke. The Targaryens have a damned army now. They are growing more threatening by the day!”

“An army that has a deep rooted fear of running water Robert. They are scared of the sea, and will not cross it. Viserys Targaryen has entered into a foolish alliance, just as everything else he has done since his damned escape has been foolish. He will not cross.” Ned says confidently.

Robert does not seem convinced. “And if the girl gets with child? What then Ned? The Dothraki will feel honour bound to cross. What man would not want his child as king or queen over Westeros? You’d be mad to refuse such a thing.”

 _I did Your Grace, and it cost me nothing and everything._ Ned thinks, but he does not say this aloud, the less Robert knows about that, the better. Aloud he merely says. “When they start learning how to build ships, then I will consider them a threat Your Grace. Not before.”

The king sighs then. “Gods dammit Ned. How can you sit there and not care about a single damned thing relating to them? They are the reason Lyanna is not here, and your father and Brandon. Do you not care for revenge?”

Ned stiffens then. The sound of steel on steel enters his mind, the cries of his sister as she bled to death in his arms, the tears, the heartbreak, the broken confessions, all of it fills his mind. Anger enters his body then. “Revenge? Rhaegar and Aerys are dead Robert. Viserys and his sister did nothing to deserve such hatred. They were merely babes when Rhaegar caused the war.”

“They are still Dragonspawn Ned! They are the very reason why we have to constantly be alert. Their continued presence threatens everything we worked for. I am half convinced they are the ones behind Jon Arryn’s death.” Robert blusters.

Ned looks at his friend then, an uneasy feeling filling him. “I do not think they have the strength to do something such as that. And besides, Jon’s death was natural. Sudden, but natural was it not?”

His friend and king snorts. “Come now Ned, you do not truly believe that do you? Jon was a healthy man, and his system was built for fighting. Do you truly believe that he could just up and die all of a sudden? No there was something else to it.”

“Then why have you not done something about it Robert? If you think this is something else, why not look to it?” Ned asks.

“Because it would raise far too many issues, and I have enough to worry about with this damned news, than trying to bring the damned Lannisters into matters that do not concern them.” the king replies.

Now Ned truly wonders how much his friend knows. “The Lannisters? Why would they be involved?” he asks.

“Because it was Pycelle who was the one who treated Jon before he died. I am many things Ned, but I am not that much of an idiot.” Robert replies.

“Then why have you not done anything about this? You are the king Robert, surely you could have something this important looked into! If the Lannisters are responsible for this, then they are murderers and they need to be brought to justice!” Ned fumes.

“Because, I do not have anything else to go on other than my own suspicion. And surely you know by now that without the word of someone else, even the Lannisters can go past the king. I am many things, but I am not so foolish as to make an enemy of Tywin Lannister Ned. I am not you, nor am I Jon. I need to leave something solid for my son to inherit. Besides, it has made things much easier regarding the Vale.” The king replies.

“What do you mean?” Ned asks.

“Jon’s heir Ned, the boy is not fit enough to rule the Eyrie, not with war coming. With Jon gone, that means the responsibility must go to someone who knows what it means to fight, and is old enough to command respect. The Kingslayer is one such man, but my son had another suggestion. Harrold Hardying. He is the heir to the Vale is well loved there, perhaps it is time we see whether or not he is capable.” Robert replies.

“You cannot be serious Your Grace,” Ned protests. “The Warden of the East has always been an Arryn, the lords of the Vale would protest this!”

“The boy is an Arryn through his mother, even Jon admitted as such before he died. I will not have a child leading the armies of the Vale when war comes.” His friend and king says stubbornly.

“Then you risk angering the lords of the Vale, and you remember what happened during the rebellion Robert.” Ned says.

A dark look passes over his friend’s face then. “Those days are gone Ned, and my decision remains. Harrold Hardying will be Warden of the East, and you will approve it.”


	25. Considerations

**5 th Month of 298 A.C. Moat Cailin**

**Jon Snow**

His mind was awash with concern, and he did not know whether he was right to feel so concerned. Ever since they had left Winterfell, Jon had noticed that the crown prince had begun paying him less attention, it was almost as if he had gotten whatever it was he wanted from him and now Prince Joffrey was content to leave him be. This had planted many unwanted thoughts in Jon’s mind, he wondered if he was being used, and if the crown prince actually gave a damn about him. Jon was sure the crown prince did, and that he was merely busy looking after Sansa, as was his right and duty, and yet there was some part of him that whispered treacherously that the crown prince was merely using him.

That was why he had been so relieved when Ser Waymar had come to speak with him. Now he could get his worries out in the open. For some reason he found it easier to speak with the Vale knight than he did with the crown prince about such things. Looking at the man he could not help but notice how handsome the man looked in his house colours, Jon wondered about that, but quickly pushed such thoughts from his mind and spoke quickly. “I am sorry if this seems like I am being a child Ser Waymar, but I cannot help it anymore. I feel as if the crown prince has forgotten me.”

The man looks at him a moment and then says. “It is quite alright Jon. I can understand why you might think that. His Grace has spent a lot of time with you in Winterfell, and that is how he is. Once he see someone he wishes to befriend he spends time with them to ensure he gets to know them and understand them, and he has not forgotten you. It is just that he has had to spend a lot of time getting to know his bride, after all they are married now, it is only right would you not agree?”

Jon nods. “Of course. And I do not mean to criticise His Grace for that, it is just that there are some things that we spoke of and I fear that His Grace has forgotten them in his haste to be a good husband.”

A look passes across the man’s face then and then he says. “I can see where you might think that. But I assure you, that His Grace has not forgotten of what you spoke of, it is that he is being a good husband and a good prince. When he is happy with that, he shall return to speak with you. Until then, if you have any concerns please do speak of them to me.”

Jon is still not certain whether or not he can believe the knight, and as if sensing this the knight lays a hand on Jon’s shoulder and says. “Jon, trust me. I grew up with His Grace, I know it might not seem it now, but the crown prince has not forgotten you. He is merely ensuring that he has all sorted before you and he begin working anew.”

Jon relaxes slightly under the iron grip of the knight and asks. “You are certain?”

The man nods. “I am certain. Trust me Jon, I know the crown prince, and I know he has not forgotten you or the goal he set out for you both.”

Jon relaxes even more then and says. “Very well then, I shall put the thought from my mind.” He pauses a moment and then asks. “How have you found the north Ser?”

The man is silent a moment and then replies. “It is a good place. There is a heritage here that begs to contradict the southern imagery painted of the north. It is an interesting place, and one I hope to visit again someday.”

Curious Jon asks. “What is it of the north that interests you?”

The knight looks at him with a curious gaze before replying. “All of it. But most definitely the history. There is a deep sense of self and identity in the north that is perhaps lacking in the south. For someone such as me it is deeply appealing, and as such I can identify with that sense of self. There is no apologising for what you are in the north, and that is something I can truly respect.”

Jon feels a sense of pride flow through him at that. “A good thing that. To have a sense of self and identity, it can help you through dark times.”

He can feel an old melancholy coming over him then, and he tries to push it down, and yet it does not go, it remains there, festering, an old wound waiting to be picked. He almost expects the knight to do just that, instead the man merely asks. “And do you have a sense of self Jon?”

Jon considers this, and tries to keep the old hurts from surfacing. “I….I did not before I met the crown prince. Now that I have met him I do. I know where I belong in the world, and I know what needs to be done.”

The knight looks at him and asks. “And what is your purpose then Jon?”

Jon looks at the knight and matches his equally intent gaze, silence passes between them for a moment and then he replies. “To serve the crown prince in all that he asks, and to ensure that none stand against him.”

The man nods, and silence falls between them once more, this time it stretches on and does not seem to have an end. Jon can hear the chirping of birds, frogs croaking and the general sense of something else being present. Ghost lies at his feet asleep, and the knight is looking at him intently, very intently, Jon feels his heart begin to quicken, and then just when he thinks the silence will go on the man speaks. “Very well, I shall leave you now.”

* * *

 

**Runestone**

**Lord Yohn Royce**

He was getting old, by the gods was he getting old. He could feel it in his bones, he could feel it in how they creaked and groaned, there was not much he could do to stop that. The passing of the seasons and the years often brought about old age, and yet Yohn Royce was a proud man and he could not help feeling somewhat angered that the thing he had been fighting for so long was now finally beginning to daw on him. The ghosts of the past were lingering longer and longer in him now, they drove up old emotions, things that would often be left best alone, and yet he found he could not do that now. The image of Kyle, his oldest son rearing his head and laughing often came to his mind more frequently now, and that was something that caused him great pain.

“What word has come from Waymar?” he asks, his voice clear even though his tone his soft.

Maester Helliwig speaks then. “It seems my lord that the crown prince is growing more insistent with his policy of having the heir installed as Lord of the Vale.”

Yohn sighs. “He is a prince of course he is being insistent. I do not think the boy has truly considered just how much dealing would need to be done to ensure that such a thing came to pass peacefully.”

“Perhaps, though we all know of the growing discontent with Lady Lysa and the rumours of her and Baelish being lovers have only grown stronger since the man has been in King’s Landing.” His eldest son and heir Andar says.

Yohn looks at his son then and says. “Rumours that were no doubt started the moment Jon’s body was lain in the ground. Gods alone know the number of suitors Lady Lysa has refused, some say it is because she is mourning others, for other reasons. I do not know what to believe, and until I find true proof that the boy is not Jon’s I will not act against him.”

“But father, you know what the boy is. He is merely a weakling, his mother will do the ruling for the next decade, if not more. We shall see ruin under her, we are already seeing ruin under her. Why should we not put Harry on the Falcon Throne? He would be good for us.” Andar argues.

“There is no honour in doing that without proof.” Yohn says stubbornly. “I will not agree to do this without ensuring something comes of it for us, and so far the crown prince has offered us nothing.”

“He is offering us the choice to take command of the Vale father!” his son protests. “We both know what Harry is like, he will need a firm hand to guide him from the ruin. We can be the power behind the Falcon throne, just as we were when Lord Jon was young. Lord Robert will be subject the Baelish and his allies, we will be left out in the cold!”

Yohn looks at his heir, Andar, his second son, has always lived in Kyle’s shadow, and to some extent that is Yohn’s own fault, and yet he knows that there is something of a fire burning within his son, and he wonders at it. “If we do as you suggest we do, then what becomes of our allies? We do not know where Waynwood, Templeton or even Hunter will go. They could well change course, for it might be more prudent.”

His son looks at him a moment and then says. “We both know Waynwood and Templeton will never change course from what you tell them to do father, it is not in their nature. Hunter, well Hunter is an old man, his sons will vie for power the moment it looks like the old man will die. We can make it worth their while, and having the backing of the crown prince is not such a bad thing either.”

Yohn looks at his son, and he can see the eagerness in the young man’s eyes, once upon a time, Yohn remembers he posed a similar thing to his own father and was backhanded and exiled for it. Yet this time the circumstances are different, this lord of the Vale is not that Lord of the Vale, and Yohn knows war is coming, and quickly, for the Lady Lysa has made it no secret who she thinks killed her husband. Sometimes he wonders at that, the haste with which she came back to the Eyrie smacks of desperation, as if she were fleeing from something, or someone. Sighing he says. “Maester, what do you suggest we do?”

“Lord Robert is weak, his mother is weak my lord. It would be for the best if you fought for Lord Harrold, the boy admires you, looks up to you even. He will do as you say and not question you. The Vale needs a firm hand guiding it, nothing more. If you allow Lysa Tully and her son to continue in the Eyrie, there will be trouble, a lot of trouble.” The maester replies.

Yohn sighs, this is a weighty decision, just as it was all those years ago when he gave his sister away to marry Jon, something about this is nagging at him, and he does not know what. Gods he wishes he could sleep, and not deal with any of this, and yet he knows, so long as he wears the armour he must continue to play the role the gods have given him, not to do so would be to abdicate his duty, and that is not something he is willing to do. Looking at the intensity of his son’s gaze, as well as the calm faced manner of his maester, he reaches his decision, turning to the maester he says. “Send the ravens out to Waynwood, Templeton and Redfort, tell them to come to Runestone. We must begin making preparations, I will not be caught off guard this time.”


	26. Death Of A King

**5 th Month of 298 A.C. Darry**

**King Robert I Baratheon**

He could almost smell the dragon that infected this place. Robert was not so great a fool as almost everyone, even Ned he suspected, took him to be. He knew the Darrys were Targaryen loyalists, and the urge to kill every single last one of them was strong. He was growing tired of having to allow such insults to go by unpunished, there was one thing his damned wife had been right about, the Targaryen loyalists needed to be crushed, and yet Robert did not have the stomach for doing such a thing. Once he might have done, but now, well now he found himself slowly fading from such hunger and turning toward his final days. He knew he was not to last for much longer, being in this god damned shit hole proved that. He just needed to speak with his son before he died though.

His son was everything a man could want in an heir, he was strong, tall, muscular, smart and a warrior. Robert was deeply proud of his son, and he knew that the boy would make a fine king, and if the way he looked at his wife was any indication, a fine husband as well. He was relieved. He takes a sip of wine then and then speaks. “You are enjoying married life son?”

His son is somewhat taken aback by this but responds all the same. “I am father, thank you.”

“What do you make of your wife son?” Robert asks genuinely interested.

“I…Lady Sansa is a very beautiful and smart lady father. She is interesting to me.” His son replies.

Grinning Robert says. “Clearly, she is very interesting to you, if cries I’ve been hearing at night are any indication.”

He nearly roars with laughter at the expression on his son’s face. “I…I… did not know we were being so loud.” His son stammers.

This time Robert does burst out laughing. “Oh it is no worries son. It is good that you are enjoying your wife so. This kingdom needs heirs, and if you are getting some fun out of it all the better. Gods know our family needs some fun in its life.”

As if picking up on his mood, his son asks. “What will become of mother father? Will she remain in King’s Landing, or will she be sent back to the Rock?”

Robert sighs then, this is something he has been debating for a long time. He cannot allow the woman to remain in King’s Landing now, Ned would likely throttle her, and truth be told, Robert could not blame him, though, Tywin, gods dammit, that man would likely be out for blood as well. Looking at his son he asks. “What would you do lad?”

There is a vehemence in his son’s tone when he replies. “I would send her back to the Rock or make her join the Silent Sisters. She has been nothing but trouble since Winterfell, and will continue be so unless something is done to prevent her madness from spreading.”

Robert nods. “Yes, that is true son. And yet your grandfather would be craving some form of retribution, what would you do there son?”

“Grandfather can complain all he wants, we are the royal family, and you are the king. He has to ensure that you are kept happy, otherwise you could well cut off any deals he has for trade. That is something he would not want, I think. Money is something Tywin Lannister values more than family.” His son replies.

Not for the first time, Robert is surprised by the thought process in his son. It is somewhat worrying for him, but truth be told, it prevents him having to think too hard on such matters. He has never done well with such things. Looking at his son he says. “That is true, and yet there is the ever present threat of the dragons looming. You know, I am sure, of the whore’s marriage to some Dothraki Khal. That is a threat I cannot ignore.”

“The Dothraki are scared of the sea father. They will not come marching here anytime soon. Viserys Targaryen has gotten himself a useless army, that never intend to do anything for him.” His son replies.

Sighing in frustration Robert asks. “And what of those rumours of there being something more out there. Come now son, you know them just as well as I do, I did not have you sit on the council for nothing.”

His son looks at him a moment and then replies. “If there is any truth to them, then Varys must be killed immediately.”

Robert looks at his son surprised, and then says. “And who would you have replace him? The man is good at his job.”

“That is one thing, withholding information from the king is another father. Should there be any truth to these rumours, the kingdoms will begin tearing themselves apart. We cannot allow that to happen. There are others who would be more than willing to fulfil the role.” His son says.

“Someone such as Ned’s bastard?” Robert asks.

His son looks surprised. “I was not thinking that, but yes, I think Jon could do well. He has a skill that can be used.”

“And he would garner even more attention should he be named to the council, being a bastard. No, this is something I will consider, and consider alone.” Robert says.

His son nods and then asks. “What about the Darrys father? How long do you plan on keeping us here?”

Robert looks at his son a long moment then and replies. “We shall be leaving soon enough. I intend to speak with Lord Raymun once we are done here. It is time we sorted out some of his longstanding issues, I cannot have such things remaining.”

His son looks worried then. “Is that wise father? The man has noted loyalties, surely something should be done to end that?”

“It must be done. I will not hear a word against it. Now go, return to your wife, and allow me to be king.” Robert says, his heart heavy. His son stands then and bids him a good night, before turning and leaving the room.  As he watches his son go, Robert knows that this will be the last time he sees the boy, and he hopes he is not leaving his son a mountain to climb.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

**Ser Raymun Darry**

Gods he was nervous, his heart was hammering so quickly within his chest he was worried that it might pop out. This was what he had wanted for so long, a meeting with the usurper, a chance to bring about the end of the man who was responsible for the deaths of his family, and now that this chance was finally coming to him, well Raymun was shit scared nervous. There was much and more he was willing to do, but whether this was one of them, he was not sure, but by the gods he was nervous. Swallowing he nods at Ser Barristan, the traitor, who calls to the king and when the door opens, Raymun enters. The king is a fat man, no longer the warrior of his prime, the wine Raymun knows is in this solar is one that has been minted with something his wife had brought from Lys. It will do the trick just nicely.

The king gestures for him to sit down, and then pours him a glass of wine. Raymun looks at it wearily, but drinks all the same. The king speaks then. “I thank you for keeping my court here for some time. I know this cannot be easy for you Ser. But I thank you nonetheless.”

“Of course Your Grace. It was no trouble whatsoever. It was an honour.” Raymun says, the words coming out of his mouth like poison.

The usurper laughs then. “Let us stop this nonsense now Ser.”

“Your Grace?” Raymun asks.

“We both know that you do not like me or my family, and that should the dragons ever return you will likely die from having filled your pants with your own seed. I do not claim to understand it, nor do I want to. The dragons must all die, and that includes their supporters. But before I kill you I would have something from you.” The usurper says.

Raymun looks at him and asks. “And what is that?”

“You know where the dragons are. I highly doubt that you and your fool of an uncle did not keep in contact. You know the whore is married to a Khal, and yet we both know they will never march for Westeros, so there is something else going on. What is it?” the usurper asks.

“What makes you think I know the plan?” Raymun asks. “I am merely a loyal follower of the Dragon Knights, not the damned chief of the order.”

The usurper snorts then. “That order still exists? I would have thought you all would have crawled one another’s shits to avoid being killed by my agents.”

Raymun grins then. “Your agents are not as skilled as you think. There are those who remained loyal even after you abandoned the cause you traitor. They did what they had to do to survive, we all did, but we never forgot the mission.”

“What? To make the damned dragons back into the gods they were during the dance? Please, such a thing was a mad man’s fancy. I would not have such a thing here in my kingdoms. They lost their right to rule when Aerys burned two Starks and his son raped my betrothed.” The usurper snorts.

Raymun sneers. “And how do you know that this was not something they planned? We both know something ate away at you during the rebellion Robert Baratheon. We know this, and yet you continue to deny it. Why?”

“Enough! I will not listen to this nonsense. There is no reason for the true reason to be a lie. She was taken against her will, by the rapist you believed would safe us all from Aerys. I will not tolerate this. I should have your whole damned family killed. And your castle torn down.” the usurper bellows.

Raymun looks at the man unimpressed. “There are only two of us. It would not be much of a thing to do. Besides our allies would begin their plotting anew. Your time is nearing its end usurper, and soon the dragon shall rise from the ashes, stronger and bolder.”

“Truly, you still believe that?” the man asks, though his speech is becoming more and more slurred. Raymun knows the poison is taking its affect now, but he keeps his face neutral.

“I do. Come now Baratheon, we know that your position has always been weak. Arryn’s death and the chaos with the Queen has led many to wonder if the Baratheons are secure. Why has your brother left? Why is he not here? Your other brother, he is a Tyrell Puppet, you know things are looking bad for you.” Raymun says, relishing the look on the man’s face.

“And you truly believe they will go for the mad king’s son?” the usurper asks.

“Anything is better than you.” Raymun replies, his own words becoming slurred.

The usurper looks as if he is being hit by something with the weight of an aurochs, the poison truly is taking its toll. Raymun himself feels as if he is being eaten from the inside. “You are mad….so very mad.” The usurper slurs. “What causes such fanatical devotion to a family of mad men?”

Raymun is having a hard time breathing now, he knows the poison has taken its toll now, but he does not care. “The knowledge of the truth. The knowledge that they are the only ones who can repair the mess you have made. War is coming, and the truth will come out.”

“Truth?” the usurper asks, his voice sounding distant.

“The truth of the rebellion, and the role you played in destroying the kingdoms.” Raymun breathes, every word a task.

“I do not know what you mean.” The usurper says his voice echoing in Raymun’s ears.

“The true reason you fought the rebellion. We both know it was not for your supposed love. The greed and guilt that has consumed you. It will come out and your son shall face its wrath.” Raymun says laughing.


	27. Punishment

**5 th Month of 298 A.C. Darry**

**King Joffrey I Baratheon**

His father was dead, word had come late the night before, a knock on the door, Ser Barristan Selmy bringing the news Joffrey had both feared and desired for most his life. His father was gone, killed by Ser Raymun Darry, the man himself was still alive, barely, clearly he had thought the poison he had used to kill King Robert would have killed him as well, and yet it had not. Now Joffrey would have his revenge, he had called a meeting of court and was now going to end this once and for all. House Darry would die today, and with them this damned Targaryen loyalism.

The court was buzzing, there was much and more talk, but Joffrey only had eyes for the people stood in front of him. Ser Raymun Darry, his wife and his son and heir Lyman. They would die for their crimes. He cleared his throat and the hall fell silent, a sense of power filled him then. “Ser Raymun Darry, Knight of Darry you are here today facing crimes for regicide and treason. How do you plead?”

“Not guilty.” The man replies.

A murmur fills the hall then, and Joffrey feels his anger begin to grow. “Not guilty?” he repeats. “You deny killing your king after plotting against him?”

“No.” the man says calmly. “I deny that he was ever my king. Or that you are my king now. The Baratheons are nothing more than usurpers, who rose far too high too quickly. They defiled their sacred oaths to the Targaryens, and your father broke his own vows too. To the Order of the Dragon.” A murmur goes up then, and Joffrey feels anger fill him once more. Before he can speak though Darry continues. “The Dragons will come again boy, and they will not be stopped. Westeros is not as secure as you or your father might have liked to think it is. There is dissent within your own court.”

Joffrey looks at the man bemused and asks. “And how could you possibly know this?”

“Look around you boy. Your own Lord Commander was once the most loyal solider of the mad king. Your hand was in the Order of the Dragon, everyone has been talking of things they know nothing about. You will be led into destruction in the name of the dragon. There is nothing left for you to do but accept that fate.” Darry replies.

Joffrey’s hands are gripping the throne tightly. His voice is calm though when he speaks. “And I am to simply accept the word of a man who is known to have become fanatical to the Targaryens as a youth? I think not. Your family’s history and your own actions speak against you. Bring the prisoner here.”

The Kingsguard move to bring the man to the foot of the throne, and Joffrey walks down the steps towards him, pausing before him, anger filling him. “Ser Barristan,” he says. “Give me your sword.”

“Your Grace?” the Kingsguard knight asks confused.

“Your sword Ser. Give me your sword.” Joffrey repeats.

The knight obliges, a concerned look upon his face. Joffrey takes the sword and weighs it with one hand, it feels light compared to what he is used to holding. Feeling something savage raise its head inside of him, he looks at Darry, and without saying a word plunges the sword into the man’s throat, as blood spurts from the wound, and as the court gasps, Joffrey feels pleasure fill him at the sight of the dead enemy. He pulls his sword out of the man’s throat and hands it back to the knight. Turning, he walks back and sits on the throne before speaking. “Kill the rest.”

Men move to do as he says, but Lord Eddard speaks then. “Sire, I beg you, please reconsider this. Lady Darry and Lord Lyman are innocent of Ser Raymun’s crimes. They do not need to suffer for them.”

Joffrey turns an annoyed eye on to the man and says. “They did not come to warn their king of what Ser Raymun was plotting or planning. They did nothing except lie to us when we came here for shelter. Even now they do not deny my actions. Why should I spare them?”

“Because there is no proof that they were complicit in the crimes of the man. There is no honour in harming someone without proof.” The man says.

Joffrey is silent for a very long time then, looking at the Lord of Winterfell, considering whether the man is right or if he is just painfully naïve. After a moment he speaks. “Honour? What they did was without honour. They proclaimed loyalty to my family, and yet the banners in their cellars prove that they have not stopped following the dragons. They must die for their treason. As a lesson to others.”

Lord Stark’s face pales at his words. “Your Grace, I beg you to reconsider.”

Joffrey stares at Stark, and then at Darry’s wife and son, surrounded by his men. They look defiant, not even afraid of the men standing there waiting to kill them. It is this that convinces him of their guilt. No sane man would stand there without fear, not before him, before their deaths. He looks at them and then at Stark and merely says. “They must die, they will die. Nothing will change my mind on this matter.”

He expects Stark to walk out of the room then, instead the man merely sighs and says. “Very well Your Grace.”

Joffrey hides his surprise behind a curt nod and then turning to the men holding the Darry woman and her son at sword point he says. “Kill them.” he watches with some satisfaction as the swords spear through them ending their pitiful lives. Sansa who had been quiet throughout this takes his hand then and squeezes, he looks at her briefly before turning back to watch the spectacle before him. Once it is done there is a long silence and then he says. “Mount their heads on spikes outside the castle walls. Let this be a warning of what happens to those who rebel.”

* * *

 

**King’s Landing**

**Lord Renly Baratheon**

The court had been alive with gossip and rumours ever since the Queen had returned from Winterfell. Talk of why and how she had arrived so early had come rapidly through. She had disgraced herself at Winterfell, threatening Renly’s nephew’s wife, and as such there was much and more that was being gained from this. Lannister presence at court was rapidly reducing as the cousins and flatterers removed themselves from court to remove their association with the mad queen as she was being called. There was also the fact that the Lord of the Rock was deeply angry with his daughter, enough to consider calling her back to the Rock. But of course that was being replaced by the news coming out of Darry.

“The king is dead, a boy sits in his place. Surely this is the right time to make your move Renly.” Loras says, his lover reclining against a pillow.

Renly looks at the man and says. “What with him so close to King’s Landing, and without enough support to truly hold the city? I do not think so. You heard what he did at Darry, my fate would be much worse.”

“You would bend the knee to a boy Renly? Truly? You who spoke of how only men can rule Westeros with the detail required to keep it great? You would bend to a boy?” his lover asks.

“If it means we can keep our heads for another year then yes I would. That boy has shown his mettle with what he has done in Darry. There is no questioning that he means what he says. We must build up support and undermine him, we cannot do that now.” Renly says.

“And why is that? Why can we not undermine him now? He is not in the city, you are. You have friends in every place that matters. The people love you, they do not know this King of theirs.” Loras whispers.

Renly feels something coil inside him. “It would not be smart to do so now. Not when people are beginning to take notice. We do not know what type of king the man will be. He could be a bad one or he could be a good one. Either way, we must wait and see.”

“And if he is a good king, then you risk losing the chance of turning his actions against him by doing nothing.” Loras says.

Renly glares at his lover and says. “I know that Loras, but I must find out what sort of a person he is first. I cannot, and will not act before some things are in place and are certain.”

“Why? What has changed between the last time we spoke of this and now?” Loras enquires.

“Darry. Robert is dead. My brother was murdered, and the boy got revenge for it. it was he who saw that the queen was truly exiled from Winterfell. He is not what I was expecting. I cannot act now, without seeing further evidence that acting would be good for the realm.” Renly replies.

“What is good for the realm?” Loras exclaims. “What is good for the realm surely means what is good for you? You cannot truly believe that your nephews are good for the realm, no more than you can believe that Stannis Baratheon is good for the realm. You must act, and act quickly.”

“With what support? My men are not enough to destroy the support the Lannisters have here. Even if some are leaving from King’s Landing, many more are remaining curious to see what the new king is like. And then there are the Starks, Eddard Stark is bringing a sizeable retinue with him, he will not support me. Not when he has no reason to doubt that the boy is Robert’s. There is nothing there for me to work with.” Renly replies.

“My father can bring his men up quickly.  I know he has some already prepared near Tumbleton, there is no reason why he cannot bring them here before the king and the court get here.” Loras says.

Renly cups his lover’s cheek then and says. “I do not believe that will do much to stop what might well come. My nephew has never truly approved of me or of us. I would not be surprised if he begins thinking of replacing me on the small council.”

“And you will just accept this? You the Lord of Storm’s End and one of the most powerful men in the realm? You will merely accept this and not do anything about it? By the gods Renly why?” his lover asks.

“Because it exposes the weaknesses of the king. It shows that he is not above common emotion, and that is something I can use. A king who shows he is a person can fall, far easier than a man who portrays himself as something else.” Renly replies.

“What do you mean?” Loras asks.

Not for the first time, Renly cannot help but think that his lover might be good with a sword, but when it comes to the more intricate details of the game, he is nothing more than a child. “I mean that making Joffrey feel that he has the power is a good thing, for it means he will become careless. And him dismissing me for whatever reason, regardless how good, will merely make it look as if he is being petty and dismissing me out of fear. I can use that to create the exact thing he would fear.”

“But then what would stop Stark from simply speaking with him and advising him against it?” Loras asks.

“Because Eddard Stark does not know how to play the game, and he never has done. Why do you think he spent all of his time in the north after the rebellion? The man has no idea of how to play, and that will be his downfall. His sons on the other hand can be of use.” Renly says.


	28. Council

**Sixth Month of 298 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Grand Maester Pycelle**

Much had happened since the royal party had headed north, the Queen had been banished from Winterfell, and though she resided now in King’s Landing, Pycelle did not see her, no one did, and she had become an outlaw within her own home. It was a bitter irony, and one Pycelle relished in. the woman had always been too much for him to stomach, that she was now rotting in her own creation was good. Robert Baratheon was dead, killed at Darry, that house which Pycelle had always harboured suspicions about were dead, and now a new king sat the Iron Throne. Pycelle suspected that Lord Tywin would not get his wish, for Lord Stark had been confirmed as hand, though the Lord of the Rock was heading to King’s Landing. Pycelle looked forward to seeing how this king dealt with his grandfather.

The king’s first council meeting had much and more to discuss, and as such, Pycelle listened intently as the king spoke. “First of all I would like to thank you all for coming here today, my father knew what your value was even if he did not always attend the council meetings. His funeral was one that happened with great pomp and ceremony. The first issue I wish to discuss is the coronation. How go plans for that Lord Baelish?”

One snake amongst many spoke then. “They go well Your Grace. The Faith is willing to forgive the crown its debts to them in exchange for both yourself and Queen Sansa being crowned in a most elaborate ceremony in Baelor. They also have one more condition, that being that Queen Sansa confirm her faith.”

There is deafening silence then, Pycelle looks at the king and sees that the man looks deeply angered by all this, Lord Stark’s face is impassive. “And what pray tell has made them make this demand?”

“The fact that she is from the north Your Grace. They wonder if the worship of the old gods will become common now.” Baelish replies.

The king grits his teeth and clenches his fists. “She will follow whatever gods damned faith she wants. The faith will know this or I will remind them who it is that protects them.”

There is a long silence following that, and then Pycelle speaks. “I believe that is a wise course of action Your Grace. You cannot allow the Faith to grow too demanding, otherwise gods above know what they will begin asking of you.”

The king nods. “I have been meaning to speak with you Pycelle, about my mother. What does she do? Why did she come back to King’s Landing?”

“She merely sits in her room doing nothing and speaking of someone called Maggy. I know not what to make of it, but I do believe she is not well.” Pycelle says.

“What does that damned thing have to do with anything? My mother should never have come back to King’s Landing. She is a danger to herself and to everyone here. She should return to the Rock.” The king says. And Pycelle gets the impression that he is not asking so much as stating this.

“Of course Your Grace, a wise move, and one I am sure Lord Tywin will most thoroughly agree with. The queen dowager is most definitely a risk to those around her, and is not safe to herself as well. Being in calming and relaxing environment will be enough for her I think.” Pycelle says.

“Would the Queen not want her children with her?” Baelish asks.

“I would recommend keeping the Prince and Princess here in King’s Landing Your Grace.” Pycelle says. “The queen must recover before she can be fully exposed toward anything else.”

“Then she shall go by herself when my grandfather comes to court and when he leaves. I will not leave her here.” The king responds. “Now there is one other thing I wished to discuss.” The king pauses and Pycelle feels something akin to nerves fill him, will the king be foolish enough to bring up Lord Arryn’s death, or is there something else he is considering. “When coming back from King’s Landing, my father and I spent many an hour discussing the realm. There were many things that we knew agreed on and there were many things we disagreed on. One thing that stood out, was that Lord Robert is but a child, and his mother not of sound mind. There is a threat in the East in the form of the Targaryens, and we must be prepared for war. It is with this in mind that I have decided to name Harrold Hardying as Warden of the East.”

There is a murmur of surprise at this. “The man is not even a knight Your Grace, is that a wise decision?” Baelish asks.

“The man is a man, not a boy. And he has the support of Yohn Royce and those who are Royce’s traditional allies, something Robert Arryn does not have. He is coming to court to swear fealty, when he does I shall confirm him as Warden.” The king says, in a voice that brooks no argument.

Baelish’s face falls then, and Pycelle cannot help but smile. “I fully agree with you Your Grace.” He finds himself saying. “In a time of near war, one must have men in charge of the armies of Westeros, not boys. It is men who fight and win wars, and especially with a threat such as the Targaryens one must know just what has to be done to ensure they are defeated. A wise choice.”

The king merely nods before turning to Lord Renly. “There was one other thing my father and I were in agreement on and that was the fact that there were some councillors or members of court who added nothing to their role. You, Lord Renly have done nothing to stop the growth of lawlessness within the city in my absence and you have done nothing to change any laws, despite Lord Arryn setting you that task. You have failed in your duty as master of laws, and I find myself questioning your worth here.”

“I was merely waiting for you to return Your Grace!” the Lord of Storm’s End protests. “I saw no reason to make moves that might well displease you!”

“That was not why you were inactive, and I find it insulting that you would use such a lie to try and convince me otherwise. You have never taken your duties seriously and from looking over the reports of council meetings given to me, I have reason to believe that this has been a long term arrangement. I will not tolerate such things on my council. You are dismissed from the council, you shall return to Storm’s End.” The king says.

“And what am I to do in Storm’s End?” Lord Renly asks.

“You are to be a lord, do your duty to your people and marry. Your time is running out my lord.” The king says.

Pycelle watches as Lord Renly stands up then, looking completely surprised, the man walks out of the council chamber and to his rooms. There is a long silence and then Lord Baelish speaks. “A bold move Your Grace, removing Lord Renly like that. To be sure, it is a wise choice, but there will be consequences.”

The king looks at Lord Baelish and merely says. “The man will do nothing if he wants to keep his head.”

* * *

 

**Eddard Stark**

The king looks at Lord Baelish and merely says. “The man will do nothing if he wants to keep his head.”

The king’s first council meeting has so far been an interesting one, but this decision, this is surprising. It is something Ned cannot understand, and so as hand he speaks. “Your Grace, if I may?” the king nods and Ned goes on. “I cannot fully see the wisdom behind dismissing Lord Renly in this manner. There was a chance he might finally honour his commitment to the post, and do something worth wile. Now we do not know who will replace him.”

The king looks at him then and smiles. “Ah but I do. Ser Waymar has long demonstrated apt skills for the position that my uncle wasted. He shall become the new master of laws, and as such that position is effective immediately. Ser Barristan if you could send someone for Ser Waymar.” The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard who has sat in silence till that point stands up then and walks to the door where he informs another member of the Kingsguard and then he comes back and sits down.

“Ser Waymar, is an interesting choice Your Grace, he is young to be sure, younger than Lord Renly, but perhaps more likely to work hard.” Lord Baelish says. There is something about the man that irks Ned and he is not quite sure what it could be.

The king merely nods. “It is time we brought some change to the council. And now that change has been made. Now what other items are there to discuss?”

Baelish speaks then. “The Iron Bank has begun calling in its debts. A missive came from them three days ago saying that they will be sending an envoy to King’s Landing to discuss terms of the repayment.”

“Just how in debt are we?” the king asks and Ned can sense the trepidation.

“Some two hundred dragons in debt Your Grace.” Baelish replies with a straight face.

“And you were willing to allow this to happen?” the king asks his tone filled with malice.

“I merely did as the king and the hand asked of me.” The man replies.

“I refuse to believe that Jon Arryn would have allowed the throne to get into so much debt Your Grace.” Ned says, unable to keep his mouth shut. “Surely he would have done something to stop such a thing from happening.”

“I believe he often did. And yet I do not think my father often listened when he wanted to do something. You know what he was like Lord Stark, my father could be very stubborn when he wanted to be. Now tell me Lord Baelish do we have the means to repay this loan in instalments?” the king asks.

The master of coin shakes his head. “Not if you wish to keep paying the loans off into your son’s sixteenth nameday Your Grace. The treasury is running dangerously low.”

“How is that possible?” Ned asks. “Have people not been paying their taxes?”

“It is not that my lord hand.” Baelish says. “It is more the fact that the king had a voracious appetite for spending, and loans to the Rock and to the Faith had to be paid off as well. Hence the rather depleted treasury.”

Ned looks at the king then and he sees something blooming behind the man’s eyes. “My grandfather is coming to court no doubt to be named hand. Of course such a thing will not happen, but there are other ways in which I can have this debt written off.”

“What are you thinking Your Grace?” Ned asks a hint of worry in his voice.

“My grandfather has long wanted Ser Jaime back as his heir, I am sure he would be willing to write of the debt for the return of his golden son. That and getting his daughter back from the embarrassment she has caused would be more than enough incentive.” The king says.

“Ser Jaime should be at the wall.” Ned says. “He broke his vows to his king when he killed King Aerys. And regardless he is not one to be removed from the Kingsguard. They serve for life.”

“He did his damned duty to the realm by killing the mad king.” The king argues.

“The Kingsguard serve for life Your Grace, it is within the vows. To change that would be to create all sorts of trouble.” Ser Barristan says.

There is a deep sense of anger within the king’s face then. But it quickly disappears, his voice is calm when he says. “Then we might as well create a scenario for that. But that is for another time. For now, I want notice sent out that a tourney shall be held to celebrate my wedding to Sansa and for the naming of Lord Stark as hand. There will be prizes of course, but those who compete shall be paying a fee to enter of course.”

“Can the coffers afford such a strain?” Ned asks.

Joffrey looks at him and then at Baelish. “You will find a way to make this happen Baelish. You are responsible for this mess, you shall fix it. Furthermore, taxes might well need to be raised for this as well. I will not have the coffers so low, not with the Targaryens growing as a threat.”

“But how true of a threat are the Targaryens Your Grace?” Ned asks. “They are married into a tribe that fears the water. They cannot cross.”

The king looks at him and says. “They might not be able to cross now, but should there be those on this side of the water who know how to undermine my regime, they will. The Darrys are gone and their castle and lands are now forfeit to the crown, but there are others still out there, and I must find them. I shall not allow the dragons to come back here.”

Ned sighs and says. “Of course Your Grace.”


	29. Diet of Worms

**6 th Month of 298 A.C. King’s Landing**

**King Joffrey I Baratheon**

The council would do his bidding, Joffrey would make sure of that. They were old hands now, skilled at the game, yet old men could die, and that was what he was determined would happen. Pycelle would remain, for now, yet Varys and Baelish needed to go, they were thorns in his plans, and he would not have them there staining his methods. Waymar was a good man to have on the council, firmly loyal and proven beyond a doubt, his success with the Vale was his credit, and Hardying would come south soon enough to swear fealty, once the coup had happened. As for Stark, his friendship with Joffrey’s father and Joffrey’s marriage to Sansa kept the man loyal, and there would be more soon enough.

His grandfather was another issue. Tywin Lannister, the most powerful man in the realm behind the king was looking at him now, and Joffrey knew he needed to defeat the man at his own games to have power over him. It was why he opened with this. “You are here no doubt to claim the handship are you not grandfather? I am afraid to tell you that Lord Stark shall retain the handship per my father’s wishes.”

The man’s face is impassive, though Joffrey senses there is a sense of anger there. “A wise decision to keep the north more involved Your Grace,” his grandfather states. “Though I must wonder if it is truly the best for the kingdoms. Stark has no experience ruling within the south. The southerners could well object to his ruling.”

“They can object all they like. I am the king and my word stands. I shall crush any who object to my laws.” Joffrey states.

“A bold claim to make Your Grace. But without your lords, how will you defend such a claim?” his grandfather asks.

“The North and the Vale are mine, as are the Riverlands. I have the alliance that won my father the throne. That is how grandfather. The lord of Winterfell is my father in law, his son and heir are my friends, and the heir of the Vale is within my own circle of influence. They will fight for me and follow my policies regardless.” Joffrey says confidently.

Something akin to approval flashes in his grandfather’s eyes. “A very smart plan my king. Stark is known for his adherence to duty and his honour would dictate that he follow you regardless of the actions you have. The riverlands, Lord Hoster knows his realm is fractious and that supporting you is in his interest. As for the Vale, you would see the Arryns removed? That would be difficult to achieve.”

“Not if you have the Royces and their allies supporting you. Why do you think Waymar is there on the council grandfather?” Joffrey says. “I will have the Vale. One line of House Arryn shall be removed and another put in its place. That is the way of things for those that flee from their duty.”

His grandfather it seems gets the hint, for he says. “I am willing to write off the crown’s debt to the Rock on the exchange for one thing Your Grace.”

“And what is that?” Joffrey asks, though he already knows what it is, and he knows what his answer will be.

“The return of my eldest son and heir Jaime Lannister. Your uncle Jaime was wrongfully put into the Kingsguard, by the mad king. He did not wish to be put into the Kingsguard and as such, he is more fit to sit in the rock than as a glorified servant.” His grandfather says.

“Uncle Tyrion is your heir grandfather. Kingsguard are in the Kingsguard for life. There is nothing more to it than that. I cannot let one go without starting something I cannot finish. Why should I grant one favour to you and not to the others?” Joffrey asks. “I am not my father to blindly do as you say.”

His grandfather looks at him a hint of anger there. “That is the price of my loyalty Your Grace. My son for my loyalty, it is the truth of the matter. Your own father was considering relieving Ser Jaime from his Kingsguard vows.”

“And why do you not want uncle Tyrion as your heir? Is it because he is a dwarf, or because he killed your wife? Either reason is not a good enough one. He is a perfectly capable man, and would make a far better heir than Ser Jaime. You know that, I know that, the whole bloody realm knows that, and yet you continue to insist on something you know I cannot give. You would demand this from your king, I should do to you as I did to the Darrys. But I am no kinslayer, so instead I shall ignore that you made a demand of a king and instead give you something.” Joffrey replies heatedly, his grandfather looks like he is unsure of whether to be angry or afraid, after all Joffrey is much bigger than him and stronger. “My mother is still of an age where she can bear children. She will return with you to the Rock once my coronation has taken place, and you shall marry her to cousin Daven. They shall sire your heirs for you. But should they have no heirs, then Tyrion shall be named your heir.”

He can see just how much this is paining his grandfather, and he grins, _I am good at this old man, better than my mother at any rate, and perhaps almost as good as you, this crown of mine helps as well._ Joffrey thinks. Eventually his grandfather speaks. “And if I refuse?”

“Then you will not leave this room. you will die and be accused of treason and Tyrion shall be named Lord of the Rock.” Joffrey says simply.

A look of absolute loathing appears on his grandfather’s face. “Then I accept most humbly your Grace. The debt is null and void as of this moment.”

“Good.” Joffrey says, knowing he will need to remove his grandfather soon enough.

* * *

 

**Queen Dowager Cersei Baratheon**

Court was a different place for her now. She had been displaced, ever since that damned trial, walking on eggshells, doing nothing but walking without making a sound. It angered her greatly, truly it did. She was a lioness not a mouse, she would roar, and they would hear her. At least her oaf of a husband was dead, killed in Darry that made her laugh, truly it did, the fool was gone killed by the order he had so despised and yet admired as well. Good riddance, she thinks, now her son sits the throne. The son who stands before her, something akin to contempt in his eyes.

“You are not remaining here mother. You are to return to Casterly Rock.” Her son says and Cersei does not understand.

“Why? Why are you sending me away Joffrey? Why are you sending me away and leaving yourself in a den of wolves and nest of vipers?” she asks.

“Because you are a danger to yourself and to everyone else. Your actions at Winterfell were not forgivable. My wife does not feel safe around you, and I cannot allow that.” Her son replies.

“She is not what she appears Joffrey. She is using you. Please you cannot do this. Do not send me away!” she pleads

Her son looks at her and says. “I have already decided this, and grandfather has agreed. You are to return to the Rock and marry cousin Daven, you will bear his children and they shall be grandfather’s heirs.”

“You would use me as chattel? Why? Why do you believe your grandfather would follow through on such things? He wants Jaime as his heir, why do you think he will not come back demanding that?” Cersei asks outraged.

“Because if he does not agree I will kill him and put Tyrion as Lord of the Rock. I know that is something neither you nor he want, and so I am giving you both what you want.” Her son says coldly.

“But why are you selling me off as if I am a piece of meat? Am I not worth your time then Your Grace? Did I act so without limits in Winterfell, without cause, that I am to be shipped off somewhere and never seen again?” she asks.

“Yes.” Her son replies

She does not even know she has slapped him until she hears the sound. He does not even move, but his face is clouded with anger. “Hit me again mother and I will remove your hand.” He says his voice like venom. With that he turns and walks out of the room leaving her alone and mournful. She sits down then and looks at herself in the mirror, the witch’s prophecy is not coming true, and yet her heart is breaking, slowly it is breaking. Her son is pushing her away, she will never see her children again, this is something she knows, and she has sealed her fate.

She does not know how long she sits there staring at herself in the mirror, but when the door is opened and Jaime enters she throws herself into his arms. “Jaime, where have you been?”

“Speaking with father. I know you are going back to the Rock. I tried to argue against it, but father would not hear of it. He insisted that this was the right course of action. I do not know why, I even volunteered to leave the Kingsguard.” Jaime says.

That hits her like a slap. “You did what?” she exclaims. “You could not be serious, Jaime!”

Her twin looks down at her then and says. “I was, as serious as I have ever been. You need to be here Cersei, for Tommen and Myrcella, their brother does not care for them, but you do. You have to be here to ensure they are safe. I would ensure that.”

“But you cannot leave me!” she pleads.

“I would not leave you, but father I thought would have wanted me as his heir, I am surprised he said no.” Jaime replies.

“He said no because Joffrey threatened to kill him and put Tyrion as Lord of the Rock. You know how much father despises the imp, he could not bear such a thought.” Cersei replies bitterly.

“This is not right. Joffrey is not right. This has to be stopped. Why is he doing all of this?” her twin and lover asks.

“Because of what happened at Winterfell. He is listening to the Stark whore that is why.” Cersei says.

Her twin looks at her doubtfully then. “You think that girl has power over Joffrey? Truly, do you think she has the power to make him do anything she wants or asks?”

“He is a boy and she has a cunt. Yes, she has power over him, she must be removed before he will see sense. Once she is gone, I think he will see that this is all a mistake.” Cersei says confidently.

“Cersei, what are you suggesting?” her twin asks nervously.

“Remove the girl for us Jaime. Please, you must see what I mean. She is dangerous to our family, she is dangerous for Joffrey. Please we have to see her dead. You must do this. You protected us once in Winterfell, now is another time we need you.” Cersei pleads.

“You want me to kill the Queen?” her twin asks. “I thought you were going to ask me to kill the king. That I can do.”

“No! Do not kill my son! The girl is the problem not Joffrey! Cersei says.

Her brother looks at her a moment. “Are you certain of this?” he asks.

“Absolutely. The girl must go before Joffrey sees sense. If she does not go, we are all doomed.” Cersei says.

“Then I shall do as you say, the girl will die, and you will be free once more, my love.” Jaime says before he leans down to kiss her.

She breaks the kiss off though and says. “Well, what are you waiting for, see it done. See it done now. We must act quickly.”

 


	30. Snow And Fire

**6 th Month of 298 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Jon Snow**

King’s Landing was a strange place, a place where people said one thing and meant another, a place where a compliment could be what started a fight. Jon did not understand it, but he found that he truly liked it here. It was nice, that for once he did not have to walk around as if he was nothing, now because of the king, he was something, people bowed their heads deferentially when he walked by, and the girls, gods man, the girls were something to behold. He truly liked it here in King’s Landing, and as such he was meaning to say as much to the king.

The king who towered above him even now, who he had heard many refer to as Maegor the Cruel come again, but whereas Maegor’s name was spoken with fear, the king’s name was spoken in awe. The king looks at him then and asks. “You are enjoying King’s Landing, then I trust Jon?”

“Very much so Your Grace. I find it to be a place filled with activity and life. A truly enjoyable place, despite its rather less well-off areas.” Jon says truthfully.

The king smiles. “Good, very good. It pleases me that you are so enjoying your time here in King’s Landing. Tell me, how do you find your training to be going? Is it to an acceptable standard?”

Jon is silent a moment and then says. “Very much so Your Grace. Ser Aron is a most stern tutor, and it seems that he knows where and when to get me to improve. I am liking his tutelage a lot.”

The king nods. “That is very good. I know I said that a member of the Kingsguard would be able to tutor you soon enough, and given what you have just told me I think I know just who would be the right man for you.” Jon looks at the king with eager anticipation then. “Ser Barristan should be very good for you I believe.”

That takes Jon back. “Ser Barristan? But Your Grace, is he not the Lord Commander? Sworn to be by your side at all times?”

“I have six other members of the Kingsguard there to aid in my protection, and I am not slouch with a weapon either. I will be fine. Ser Barristan will begin training you tomorrow.” The king replies simply.

Jon is silent a moment, stunned by the king’s generosity. “I…I do not know what to say Your Grace.”

“You need not say anything Jon. Merely become the best swordsman this realm has ever seen, that is all I ask.” The king replies.

Jon bows. “I will Your Grace. I promise you I will.”

“Now, enough of this talk. There is something else I wished to speak with you about Jon.” The king says. Jon sees the tension in the king’s face then and feels himself tense as well. “I believe I know where one of the artefacts to be. Exactly where it is and what it is to be.”

Jon looks at the king a moment and then asks. “You do?”

“I do.” The king replies, pausing for a moment and then saying. “I believe that it is located within my father’s old realm, in the Stormlands. Most specifically Storm’s End. And I do believe that it is the founder of my house’s hammer. Durran Godsgrief’s hammer.”

“The hammer he used to destroy The Grey King?” Jon asks in wonder. “I thought it had been lost many years before his realm was secured?”

The king shakes his head. “It was not, that was a rumour the man’s son created so as to prevent others from seeking that which he was not worthy of wielding. If I am correct, and I have no reason to doubt that I am, the hammer is buried with my ancestor deep within Storm’s End. In a place where only heirs are shown.”

Excitement fills Jon then. “Then you know where it is? For I am sure Your Grace’s father would have shown you where it is.” And then it hits him. “But then would Lord Renly not also know where it is?”

Here the king’s face twitches with something akin to frustration. “That I do not know. My father never spoke of what he showed my uncle before he died. One would expect that my uncle as Lord of Storm’s End would know just where everything were to be. But my uncle is not one to be exerting himself beyond fucking and intrigues with the fools who hold court here. No, I do not think Renly knows where the hammer is. But my other uncle, he I am sure knows where it is.”

“You think Lord Stannis seeks the artefacts?” Jon asks surprised. “Why though? I thought he would be nothing but loyal to Your Grace?”

His king snorts then. “My uncle was dutiful, loyal? He does not know anything but duty. He did his duty by my father, and remained true, but my father always told me that my uncle came very close to siding with the Targaryens during the rebellion. It would not surprise me if there is something lingering there.”

“Would Lord Stannis do something such as that? My father believes him to be a man of utmost duty and honour. Why would he go against you, his rightful king, to aid two useless incestuous bastards who have not been in Westeros for most of their lives?” Jon asks, his voice growing heated.

The king is smiling then, a dark smile, one that slightly worries Jon, but his voice is calm when he speaks. “You would think so, would you not? Alas my uncle and I have never gotten along, and whatever else he might be, my uncle Stannis knows how to nurse a grudge. He sent a petition to me whilst I was at Darry, asking for me to give him Storm’s End, claiming as the eldest it was his right. I rejected his suite, and now I do believe I have given him more reason to despise me, beyond who my mother is.”

Jon looks at his king and asks. “What do you wish to do then Your Grace?”

There is a long silence, and then the king replies. “I wish to see my uncles dead Jon. And I will see it done before the year is out.”

Jon feels something akin to discomfort then, but does not hesitate when he replies. “I shall be at your side Your Grace. Forever and always.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

**Dragonstone**

**Lord Stannis Baratheon**

Dragonstone, the exile he had been given by his fool of a brother after the rebellion. Never a grateful word had come from Robert for holding Storm’s End, for seeing his own wife and son die. For nothing had he done this. Dragonstone the place where the dragons had escaped, it was haunting him even now, that last promise he had made to a dying woman. It all haunted his dreams and his waking hours. Especially now that the boy had taken the throne, and had rejected his appeal once more. The red woman was doing this he was sure of it, and yet there was a part of him refusing to resist. He wanted this, he knew he did, and yet, he was not sure.

“Say it again,” he barks looking at the red woman. “Say it again, so I know you are not lying.”

There is a soft laugh and then she comes to him and whispers. “They are gathering, waiting for you to make them rulers of this land once more. They will give you everything you have ever wanted, and more. All you must do is see to it that they sit the throne.”

“And of my brother’s son? What of my duty to him?” Stannis asks.

He feels her hand on his arm and tenses. “He abandoned you just as your brother did my lord. He has seen to it that a bastard gets what should rightfully be yours, that a savage sits where you should.” The red woman replies.

Stannis stares ahead, standing here where he can see the waves lapping against his citadel, he wonders, he wonders what might have been had he kept his promise. Gods he does not know, does not want to think on it, but he must. “And what will happen should I do as you suggest? Will my wife and daughter be spared?”

“Of course they will. The king is no child slayer. He is a good and decent man who has suffered at the hands of your brother’s slanders. There is nothing more to It.” the red woman replies.

“Why did they choose me? I am a Baratheon, I would have thought they’d want me dead for that alone. Why did they want me to do this?” Stannis asks.

He feels her press against him then. “Because they know just how much duty and the law mean to you my lord. The boy who sits the throne cannot sit it and keep the peace in the realm. The lions and the wolves are circling around him, and your brother Renly is looking for that which is yours by rights.”

Stannis turns round sharply then and looks at her. “What do you mean?” The red woman merely smiles, and he feels his anger grow. “Tell me dammit woman, what you mean?!”

“He is looking for the hammer, just as you are, he looks for the hammer and seeks to use it for his own purpose.” The red woman replies.

Stannis feels as if something inside of him is rotting, the hammer, he had forgotten about that damned hammer, so very long has it been since he thought on it. “How do you know this?”

“The flames my lord. They do not lie. They never lie.” The red woman replies.

He does not like her use of the flames, they remind him too much of Aerys, the king he nearly fought for. He turns back to the sea and whispers. “And how do you know that? Do they tell you about the decisions that were made and broken?”

“They show me that your heart is not where it once was my lord. You cannot justify fighting for the boy who sits the throne now, for he is not the true king. The true king is across the sea waiting for you, waiting for his loyal lords to rise. You made a promise.” She whispers against his ear.

Stannis feels himself stiffen further. “A promise? And what of what was promised to me? They never delivered on it. She never did, and he certainly never did. How can I fight my own blood for something that might not ever come to pass?” he turns then and looks at her. “Tell me that woman.”

The woman smiles. “What was promised shall be given my lord. You must have faith in that. Already men are coming to swear their sword and ship. There will be men enough to fight for the king and for you. You will have what was promised to you.”

He looks at her and asks. “How do you know this?”

Before she can reply however, he sees Ser Davos stop before them. The man’s eyes widen somewhat as he takes in how close the woman is to him, and then the knight bows and says. “My lord, ships have been sighted.”

Stannis straightens then and says. “Velaryon and Celtigar.”

“More my lord, Bar Emmon, Massey many more. All are coming into dock at Dragonstone. What order should I give?” the man asks.

That takes Stannis back and he looks quickly at the red woman and then back at the Onion Knight, he does not fail to notice the look of slight disapproval on the man’s face. Biting back the urge to make a remark, he takes a deep breath and then says. “Tell them they can dock. They are to come to the Painted Chamber before the day is out.”

Ser Davos bows. “Of course my lord.”

“That includes you as well Davos.” Stannis says, the man looks somewhat surprised but he merely bows and turns and walks out.

Stannis watches the man walk out and then he looks at the red woman. “So you were right. A small start, but there will be trouble from this. I know there will be. There always is where the Velaryons and the Celtigars are concerned.”

“Not today there will be peace between those two branches of the family.” The red woman says smiling.

“We shall see.” Stannis replies unconvinced.


	31. Fury

**6 th Month of 298 A.C. Storm’s End**

**Lord Renly Baratheon**

Storm’s End was quiet, too quiet compared to the capital. Renly was not sure how he had managed to live here before, he had no idea what it was that he had been doing before he had gone to King’s Landing that had made him miss Storm’s End so much during his first few moons in the capital. Now he found his home boring, he missed the intrigues of court, the carousing that could be done, there was just so much in King’s Landing that was not present in Storm’s End. Renly resented his nephew for that, resented him for dismissing him from court and the council, sending him away in shame and disgrace, and laying the seeds for his own demise.

“The tax the king is asking of us is far too high my lord, surely you can see that? Surely you must know that we cannot afford to continue making these payments? Not without damaging our own interests.” Lord Selwyn Tarth says.

“Lord Selwyn is right my lord, the taxes the king asks for are far too high for us. Our kingdom has not seen the best harvests for more than five years now, we do not have the means to continue paying these taxes.” Lord Estermont says.

“What would you have me do my lords? The king already thinks I am conspiring against him, otherwise why would he have dismissed me from the council. There are men who watch my every move whenever I leave the castle. I cannot make any changes now.” Renly responds.

“I do not believe that for a moment my lord,” Lord Selwyn says. “You must surely have men at court, the amount of time you spend plotting with that Tyrell boy. Surely you must know what is going on at court.”

“And if that is the case, then surely you must know a way in which the king can reduce taxes without compromising himself?” Lord Estermont adds.

Renly stares at his grandfather and says. “Even if I knew what was going on in King’s Landing that does not mean I can influence shit in the capital. The king has his own advisors and is closing down on those looking to bring more outside influence into the capital. Whatever leverage I had has long since disappeared. There is nothing to it my lords, we must pay the tax or face the king’s wrath.”

A heavy silence falls then, and then after a moment Lord Estermont says. “Your father would never have allowed such an unjust thing remain. He would have petitioned the king and done all he could to get the king or the hand to listen to his reasoning. Why then are you not doing the same?”

“My father died going on some damned mission for the mad king. No doubt he was killed by Lord Tywin as the mad king thinks, or it was merely a storm that did for him, but I will not stoop to begging for something. Joffrey is doing things that will anger many lords, he must soon realise that, or else the consequences will be dire.” Renly says firmly, fighting to keep his voice even.

“What consequences? With Stark as his hand, the king has managed to get everything he has ever wanted passed into law. We are being destroyed here, we are having to shoulder the burden for your folly my lord. Tell me what consequences can the king face, when the only two people who could make him see them are hiding in their respective fortresses?” Lord Selwyn responds.

“I beg your pardon?” Renly asks. “Would you mind saying that again my lord?”

Lord Selwyn meets his stare with hard eyes, his voice is calm when he says. “You are cowering here, hiding like a little girl my lord. King Joffrey has taken away your manhood and fed it to his wolf. You are not doing nearly enough to ensure that something is done to satisfy your lords or your own damned consciousness.”

“And pray tell, what makes you think that my lord? Is it the fact that I am not doing what Robert would have done? That I am not scampering to summon the banners to march of to fight some war that I would no doubt lose. No there is no cause for war just yet. Joffrey Baratheon is a young man, and his hand is not the smartest of men, sooner or later they will make a mistake, and when that happens, that is when I shall stake my claim.” Renly responds.

“Just make sure it is not too late my lord,” Lord Selwyn replies standing up then. “Otherwise the Stormlords will not follow. We only have so much patience for your little games.” With that he bows and leaves the room, Renly’s grandfather soon following.

Renly watches them leave and then once the door has closed he bursts out laughing. “Oh that was cleverly done, cleverly done indeed. Would you not say so Loras?”

His lover looks livid and merely grunts. “You should have them killed, they spoke so rudely toward you Renly.”

“Oh come now, I heard worse on the council. No, they have just walked into my trap and they do not even realise it. Or if they do, they are being very clever about it.” Renly responds.

“What do you mean?” Loras asks. “It did not seem as if they were playing a game, it sounded as if they were being blunt.”

“Oh they were most definitely being blunt, but they were also playing a game. By saying all that they said, they were also saying that they are giving me their tacit agreement in any scheme I might be making with your father.” Renly replies smiling.

“How can you be so sure that they will remain true to you, and not go running off when the king comes calling?” Loras asks.

Renly looks at his lover then, and says. “Because they have always been loyal to my family, and Joffrey, Joffrey is not family.”

* * *

 

**King’s Landing**

**Lord Eddard Stark**

It was sweltering, truly sweltering. Ned was not sure how these southerners dealt with the heat as they did, with such cool indifference. He felt like to die, and truly, truly he just wanted to take a dip in the bath, but he knew such a thing would have to wait. The king had called a council meeting and Ned knew he would need to present his findings on Jon Arryn’s death sooner or later, he could not keep it hidden for much longer, not with the queen dowager about to leave for Casterly Rock. The king however, did not seem to be in much of a hurry to proceed with the main business. Instead, clearing his throat the king began the meeting with news that made Ned feel a curious mix of emotions. “My lords, I would like to announce that I and my lady wife the Queen are expecting our first child.”

Ned looks at his goodson and says. “Congratulations Your Grace, I am most happy.”

The king looks at him and smiles. “Thank you my lord hand, I meant to speak with you of it before, but now is the right time for such a thing.”

“Congratulations Your Grace, this is a most good thing, for now it will ensure the security somewhat of the dynasty.” Pycelle says.

Others offer their congratulations, but Ned notes that when Baelish offers his, his face is a mask, but Ned swears he can see a twitch there somewhere. Once all has died down the king speaks once more. “Thank you all, now let us move onto the most pressing business. Lord Varys what news do you have from the east?”

The eunuch takes his time. “It seems Your Grace that Daenerys Targaryen and her Dothraki horde have moved from Pentos and toward the Dothraki home of Vaes Dothrak, her brother the fool Viserys Targaryen has left with them. Of course whilst this is not unexpected, it should be noted that the Priests of the Red God in Volantis have sent men and women to join them.”

There is some murmuring at that and Ned asks. “Why would they send men to aid them, when they have done nothing before?”

The eunuch looks at him and replies. “It seems that there are those within the Red Temple that believe the Targaryens are their mythical hero come again to save the world from darkness. Of course, the red priests have been developing their own armed force, as I told Your Grace’s father before he left for Winterfell. King Robert thought nothing of it, but now, it seems that they could only have one mission on their mind.”

 Ned looks at the king and sees his face contorted with thought. “How many men?” Ned asks.

“Some eight hundred men last my sources said.” the eunuch replies. “Enough to cause some worry amongst the nobles of Volantis and elsewhere in Essos.”

Ned turns to the king wanting to speak, but the king gets there ahead of him. “I want a delegation sent to Volantis. I want them to find out what in the name of the seven hells is going on there, and if it is possible I want it put to a stop. I shall not have these damned dragons getting the better of me.”

Internally, Ned breathes a sigh of relief, he had been dreading another Baratheon rant on dragons. “Who will you send Your Grace?” Ned asks.

The king seems to be taking a long amount of time to consider this before he eventually responds. “My grandfather, Lord Tywin shall head the delegation. He has been to Essos before, it will serve us well to have him leave by moon’s end. My mother shall return to Casterly Rock accompanied by those men my grandfather brought with him.” Ned feels a certain level of unease at that, but merely nods his acceptance. The king goes on. “It has come to our attention that the state of the royal treasury has been somewhat lacking for funds as of late, and despite our best efforts, the money does not seem to be filling back. Lord Stark, what word has there been as to how the tax has been received?”

Ned hesitates for a moment and then says. “The north, the riverlands, and the Westerlands are all willingly paying the tax Your Grace. The crown’s collectors are doing their job effectively. As I am sure Lord Baelish will tell you. Though complaints have come from the Stormlands and the Reach.”

“That should be of no surprise.” Lord Baelish interjects.

“What do you mean?” the king asks.

“Well it is quite clear that Lord Renly is not happy with the state of affairs Your Grace. He had not been doing his just bit for the treasury when he was here, and now my collectors report that he has been encouraging his lords and those he has influence over in the Reach to do the same.” Lord Baelish responds.

“Such insolence!” The king snarls. “Our uncle is straying towards something dangerous here. Does he give reason for this?”

“He says that he believes the tax is unfair and is merely a sign of growing corruptness at court.” Lord Baelish replies a sardonic smile on his face.

“Pah, he has not a leg to stand on then. He was part of the corruption of my father’s reign. It is time my uncle either answered for his crimes or ended with his head on a spike. I want word sent to him to come and answer for this.” the king replies.

“And if he refuses Your Grace?” Ned asks.

There is a long silence then, as each person fixes their attention on the king. The king, who it seems is deep in thought about this, though Ned suspects he is thinking about something else. Eventually when the king responds, his voice is tough. “Then he shall know what it means to be a traitor. I want him brought here, either willingly or in chains. But he shall answer for this.”


	32. The Hunt

****

**6 th Month of 298 A.C. Winterfell**

**Robb Stark**

It was strangely quiet in Winterfell without the royal party, and without Jon. He was not sure if he truly liked it that way. For so long he had been used to the liveliness of home, of there always being something to do, and yet now, now there was little to do except for him to act the lord. That was growing to be a tiring business, and Theon, well Theon was being little to no help whatsoever. Still, he needed to speak to someone about it all.

“What’s got you so deep in thought Stark? You seem like you’re turning into Snow.” Theon japes.

Robb looks at the man and says. “All of this, this work it seems unfair to put the burden on just one man.”

“You do have others there to help you, you know Stark. Yet it is your own damned fault for feeling so tired and pressured all the time. You don’t allow anyone else to help you.” Theon says.

“I am the heir to Winterfell, I am the Stark in Winterfell it is my duty to do these tasks, it is not right to delegate it to someone else when I can do it myself.” Robb says stubbornly.

“Truly? Come now Robb, we both know you’re nowhere near as good at numbers as Snow is, and the fact that you sit in front of the accounts for hours means that there is clearly something you don’t understand. You know it’s true Robb so don’t deny it.” Theon responds.

Robb looks at his friend then and merely grumbles. “We spent a lot of money when the royal family was here. I cannot allow a mistake in the finances to be there.”

“What is one error? It’s not as if the whole bloody account would be messed up by that one error Robb. Seriously you need to relax.” Theon says.

“Relax? I can’t damned well relax, there’s so much I need to do. The Karstarks and the Umbers are arguing over some damned piece of land that has little to with anything anymore. Bolton continues to look hungrily at Hornwood lands. It is beginning to get over my head. I cannot relax, otherwise they will jump.” Robb sighs.

“And that right there is your problem Stark.” Theon says wisely.

“What do you mean?” Robb asks.

“I mean that by not relaxing you’re making yourself all the more stressed and tired. That is not good, especially with a man like Bolton or even Karstark. You have to be prepared for them, not tired. Relax a little, live a little. Come on man you’re not in the Night’s Watch.” Theon jokes.

Robb looks at his friend and asks. “How does my father do it then?”

“Your father is a grown man Robb. Comparing yourself to him won’t do you or him any favours.” his friend says sagely.

“Then how do I know if I am doing it right?” Robb asks.

“By how you feel at the end of it. And I am not talking about tiredness, I mean if it feels right in your gut, then that’s how you know.” his friend responds.

Robb looks at his friend surprised. “When did you become so wise Theon?”

His friend smirks. “I’m not wise, I’m merely talking common sense.”

Robb laughs then. “Now that’s something I never thought I’d hear you say.”

His friend merely grins. “No more than I thought you’d spend so much time looking into some damned strange sword that has been lost for thousands of years.”

Robb sighs then, his search for the sword has not gone well.  He has read every book he can get his hands on, he has searched high and low, and yet the sword is not apparent. It disappears after King Jorah Stark, and that, that is interesting to him, there is something to do with Long Lake, but he is not sure what that might be. He looks at his friend and says. “I am merely curious is all.”

“Curiosity? You were curious about Ros, but that lasted a day Robb. This, this is something more. Why are you so intrigued by this damned sword?” his friend asks.

“I do not know. But something is making me want to find it. Something is driving my desire to find it, and I know I cannot rest until I find it.” Robb says.

His friend looks at him then his eyes filled with something Robb thinks is amusement. “Well what have you found out so far?”

Robb looks at his friend and sighing responds. “Not much, only that it was last used by King Jorah Stark when he fought House Umber during the years following the Great Purge.”

“Great Purge?” his friend questions.

“The massacre that saw many houses in the north fall and the exile of House Blackwood.” Robb says. He pauses a moment and then continues. “Anyway, that was the last time it was seen, after that it was lost and has never been seen since.”

“Has there been no mention of where it might have gone?” Theon asks.

Robb is about to shake his head when he says. “Well it was supposedly sighted near the wall, and near Breakstone Hall. But none have ever truly known whether it was the sword or something claiming to be the sword. And then when we got Ice, well all interesting in finding the sword stopped.”

“Do you think House Long might have it?” his friend asks.

“No they would have given it back by now, surely?” Robb responds.

“Are you sure? We know barely anything about them, and your father never speaks of them. Surely they must have it, they were there when many great things happened in the north. If anyone has the sword it has to be them.” his friend says.

Robb looks at him and says. “But then why have they not given the sword back?”

“Because men do strange things when such a sword comes into their possession.” is his friend’s response.

* * *

 

**Pentos**

**Mopatis**

It was a curious thing this business of artefacts, when he had been younger he had never truly understood why the Westerosi were so desperate for them. He had found it odd, so very, very odd. And then he had met the spider, and he had come to understand, he understood more and more about who he was and where Westeros wanted him to be, and he hungered for it. And now, well now there was a chance to achieve something magical.

“So tell me master, why would I believe you?” he asks cautiously.

The man before him, a red priest of the temple in Volantis speaks. “Because magister, the signs all point to your boy being the one to lead us from the darkness. It is necessary that he know the truth before too long.”

“And what truth is that?” Illyrio asks.

“That he is the one destined to lead us all from the darkness and into the light once more. Great power resides in the boy, and he must know of it before it is too late.” the priest responds.

“Power. Power you say, and what power is this? Is it the power to bring those damned eggs back to life, is it power to bring back the dead. What good is this damned power if it will not show itself openly?” Illyrio asks.

“Power does not reveal itself until the moment is right magister. Surely you know that by now?” the priest responds. “The boy must know of his truth before he meets the girl, otherwise all shall be lost.”

“And how do you know this?” Illyrio asks. “Have your precious flames shown you this?”

“No, my own damned mind has. I know what comes when fire and fire meet for the first time. It happened once before, and it was dangerous, very, very dangerous. You did the wrong thing giving the girl the eggs. They should have gone to the boy.” the priest says.

“I did what I thought was best. There’s not a chance in hell those eggs will hatch. You know it, I know it, and the whole world knows it. They are nothing more than a commodity. Something to get rid of her brother with. They will not hatch.” Illyrio says forcefully.

“They will if they get to Dragonstone.” the priest responds.

“And how will they get to Dragonstone? The usurper’s brother rules that island, and he will never welcome them there.” Illyrio scoffs.

“You forget that our sister is there magister. She has made that man her slave. And he will do as she says.” the priest responds.

“Remind me why you sent her there in the first place? What were you hoping to achieve? Now you have ruined all of our plans. You know what she is like.” Illyrio fumes.

“Sometimes it is good to have plans and plans for plans. You taught me that.” the priest says.

“I also taught you that working with her is more dangerous than can be possible. She is not right in the head, gods alone knows the boy is not.” Illyrio responds.

“That is your own fault not mine. I did volunteer to raise them.” the priest says.

“As you continue to remind me Benerro. I had my reasons for that, they boy’s father was obsessed with fire, such a thing would only worsen the situation. I would not allow that to happen.  Not after what he did to our cousin.” Illyrio responds.

“And now we have a problem on our hands. The boy is unstable, the other boy is not prepared for this all, and the girl, the girl might be the only solution left.” Benerro responds.

“You think the Westerosi will accept the girl on the throne? Come now brother, surely you must know that they are not as advanced as that. They are still one step away from the Dothraki. We must see the boy king dead before we can move forward.” Illyrio responds.

“Dragons are on the horizon for us all brother. You know this. The eggs are with her now, and she has the power to do with them whatever she wishes. Daenaerys might not realise it yet, but she has great power. Power enough to challenge all of our plans.” Benerro replies.

“You cannot believe that nonsense surely brother? It has been generations, nothing has happened since that day. We must move on.” Illyrio says.

“Move on? Move on? You did not move on when Serra died. You still have not.” Benerro fumes.

“Careful brother.” Illyrio snarls.

“Careful? I am not the one who need be careful brother. I am what I am and you are nothing.” his brother replies anger flaring.

Illyrio feels heat creep into his system then, and he looks at his brother and wonders just what might have gone wrong between them, and then the memories come flooding back. “You are still angry about her?”

“Angry?” his brother blazes. “I loved her, and you and your fucking friend killed her. I will not allow this to go around unpunished. Do as I say, or I will bring this whole plan of yours crashing down.”

Illyrio wants to retort, but he knows what his brother is like, he can feel the flames slowly consuming his insides and so he wheezes out. “Okay… I will tell you everything I know.”

His brother merely smiles and says. “I only want to know one thing.”

“What is that?” Illyrio asks.

“Where are the black dragons?” his brother asks.

“I do not know what you mean brother. There are no more Black Dragons.” Illyrio replies.

He feels his throat constrict as his brother says. “Do not lie to me brother. I know you know where they are. I would know exactly where the scum are.”

Illyrio chokes out. “In the place where the rose dwells and the sun never sets. In the city where maze makers build and the dragons sleep.”

His brother eases, and Illyrio begins coughing. “Lorath. They are in Lorath.”


	33. The New Chapter

**7 th Month of 298 A.C. Dragonstone**

**Lord Stannis Baratheon**

He had never been one to believe in dreams or gods, he had stopped believing in them when his parents had died at Shipbreaker’s Bay, trying and failing to bring the Targaryens their bride. Stannis was not a great a fool as his brother had been, he had known that his father meant to win favour with King Aerys by bringing home a bride, a Blackfyre bride no doubt, but they had failed, and he had long suspected that Tywin Lannister had had a hand in his parents deaths. Now here he was planning on doing something he was not even sure was the right thing, it was the rebellion all over again and it was paining him.

“Tell me what word we have of where the King and his sister are.” Stannis says.

Ser Davos speaks then. “From what we know my lord, they are still with the Dothraki travelling through the lands and earning tribute as they go, filling their coffers with coin, no doubt to build an army, of even greater proportions.”

“And what do we know of how the Free Cities are responding to this?” Stannis asks.

Once more Davos responds. “It seems that some are welcoming them with open arms, Pentos did, Myr has also done so, the others are preparing for some conflict, and I do believe word has been sent to King’s Landing asking for help.”

Stannis perks up at this and asks. “And how has this request been received within the capital?”

“It seems that Joffrey Baratheon has taken a more neutral stance. He is not as paranoid as his father was about the Targaryens, though they are on the front of his mind to some extent.” Davos replies.

“Ah yes, the issue of my brother refusing to pay his taxes. The fool shall get himself killed.” Stannis says.

“A most useful distraction my lord, for it shall keep the false king’s attention away from your plans.” Melisandre intones.

Stannis nods and then says. “My brother no doubt is being influenced by that fool Mace Tyrell. Well let him do as he wishes, it is of no concern of mine. I do not wish to get involved in something that Renly has foolishly brought upon himself. Now tell me Ser Davos, what word have your ships picked up from the ships captured?”

At this Ser Davos looks slightly uncomfortable, and Stannis feels an old anger rise within him. Luckily, the man replies quickly. “It seems Your Grace, that Joffrey Baratheon is beginning the hunt for more trade and something else as well. It seems he is desperately searching for something, what it is none of the sailors know, but he is paying them a lot of money to find this object.”

Stannis looks at Melisandre then, they both know what his nephew is looking for, and the fact that he is sending men out to find them, means that he is getting close. “Very well. I want those men to have their tongues cut out and their eyes removed.”

“My lord?” Ser Davos asks surprised.

“They cannot go and report back to the king about anything they see here. You, yourself have said on numerous occasions that sailors are the worst kind of traitors, for they speak about anything and everything. They have no way to stop. I will not risk all of this for that.” Stannis responds.

“But surely such a harsh punishment will do little to no good. It will only make more people wonder.” Davos asks.

“And what will they wonder?” Melisandre asks. “They have no reason to question Lord Stannis if they are never given the chance to leave.”

“What? My lord surely you cannot mean to have these people killed. They have done nothing wrong!” Ser Davos protests.

Stannis merely looks at the onion knight and says. “They are a threat to my plans, and I will not have them bring them into chaos. They must be removed and they must be removed quietly.”

“This is not prudent my lord, this is murder.” Ser Davos says.

“Sometimes, one has to commit murder to achieve a goal that will bring truth and justice back to the realm.” Melisandre says, and though Stannis feels something tighten within him, he merely nods.

“This, I cannot believe what I am hearing. My lord, I beg of you reconsider. Please, do not do this!” Davos pleads.

“And who are you to question Lord Stannis, Onion Knight?” Ser Axell asks. “If his lordship decides that this is the appropriate course of action to take then it must be done.”

Ser Davos looks at him then. “Is this truly what you wish to happen my lord?”

Stannis merely nods. “It must be done, to ensure nothing hinders the plan.” the knight merely looks at him, and as the silence stretches on, Stannis finds his patience beginning to run thin. “Leave me all of you.” the men gathered in the solar rise and bow before exiting, leaving him with just Melisandre.

A silence falls between them for a long time, broken only when Melisandre speaks. “You are nervous my lord. Do not be, all shall go according to plan.”

Stannis snorts and says. “How can you be so sure? You do not know everything my lady. You do not control the fates, your fires have been proven wrong before, and Renly’s continued existence is proof enough of that.”

The woman merely smiles. “It will take time, but it will come about my lord. With the king on his way home, all shall fall into place.”

“And how can you be so sure of that?” Stannis asks. “The king is supposedly mad.”

“My brother is going to him, and my brother never fails to do as he says he would.” the woman says.

“Is your brother some sort of god? That he could make a mad man sane?” Stannis asks.

Melisandre merely smiles. “My brother is the most powerful red priest alive. He is Benerro, and the Lord of Light always looks upon him favourably.”

 

* * *

 

**King’s Landing**

**King Joffrey I Baratheon**

The crown that rested atop his head was a burden he enjoyed. The feeling of power it gave him was something that he could not explain. It was a pleasant feeling, a truly happy one, and one he would not change for the world. His coronation had gone as planned and shortly afterward he had said goodbye to his mother and to his grandfather, he knew his mother would try something though, that was always within her nature. But she would fail, she always would. He would not allow anything to happen to Sansa or their unborn child that he was to be a father was something he still could not quite process, it was new to him, and he waited for the child’s birth with anticipation.

Of course council business would not stop for anything, and so here he was, waiting for it to end. “Lord Baelish what word has there been from the Stormlands and the Reach? Are those fools still refusing to pay their taxes?”

The master of coin nods. “They are Your Grace. It seems that Lord Renly has gotten quite a bit of support for what he calls the opposition to the tyrannical tax.”

Joffrey snorts. “And what exactly is so tyrannical about paying a slightly higher rate of tax to pay off debts that he had a hand in accumulating?”

There is some laughter but then Baelish speaks. “It would seem Your Grace, that Lord Renly and those like him believe the money is not being used to pay of the crown’s debt but is instead being used for travel expeditions to fund your own fancy.”

There is a moment of silence and then Joffrey says. “A complete and utter piece of drivel. All here know that such a thing is far from the truth.”

“And yet, a large part of the Stormlands and the Reach are supporting him Your Grace. They are not ones to take lightly.” Baelish says.

“Then let them come here to present their case. If they want to be taken seriously by us, they can come here and show themselves. Not hide behind their walls like cowards.” Joffrey says.

“A wise move Your Grace. It would not do to cave in to their demands without them coming here first.” Waymar says.

Joffrey looks at his friend and nods once, before turning his attention to the next issue at hand. “What word has come from Dragonstone? Has the fool that is my uncle responded?”

Lord Stark speaks then. “Unfortunately he has not, though we have received word that he has seized three ships that were sent out from King’s Landing carrying the royal banner.”

Anger flows through him at the insult. “What reason has been given for this treason?”

“None Your Grace. Lord Stannis has not seen fit to give a reason for his actions. Nor has he seen fit to allow the ships to leave Dragonstone.” Lord Stark responds.

Anger grows within him. “Then send a damned raven to Dragonstone demanding he come here to answer for his crimes. If he does not come here, or even respond to this raven, I want it known that he is a traitor, and is attainted. His possessions and titles are forfeit.”

“Are you certain that is the right decision to make Your Grace? Lord Stannis is a powerful man, who commands the royal fleet. Would it not be better to try and bring him back to the negotiating table?” Lord Stark asks.

“No. I am done negotiating or asking him. If he does not reply to this next letter, he is done, finished. I will not deal with people who break our laws. He is a traitor plain and simple.” Joffrey responds.

There is a moment’s silence and then Lord Varys speaks. “Your Grace, if I may?” Joffrey nods. “There is one issue that has come to my attention, and it has been talked about throughout the realm. The death of King Robert at Darry has worried many people, as they feel the Kingsguard is no longer up to protecting the king. It is no longer the quality institution it was during the reign of the Targaryens, and apart from Ser Barristan, there is none within it worth the white cloak they wear. My sources tell me that some are planning on using this to their advantage.”

Joffrey looks at the master of whispers a moment and then responds. “As a matter of fact, I was indeed considering the Kingsguard and the improvements that could be made to it. For too long now it has become a place where talent has gone and favouritism has prospered. The fact that Ser Barristan remains a paragon of knightly virtue whilst others are a disgrace disturbs us. We have a solution to this. When the Kingsguard was first proposed, King Aegon proposed holding a tourney to pick the seven knights, but his sister went against that. We suggest, that instead of a tourney a melee is held. All the Kingsguard knights apart from the Lord Commander, shall compete within the melee and whoever else is willing to compete shall be allowed to.”

“That could be a risk Your Grace, for then, those of mal intent toward you, could try to use it as an excuse to get close to you.” Lord Stark says.

Joffrey looks at his goodfather and says. “Indeed, and yet the risk makes it all the more appealing. These people will be fighting for the right to wear the white cloak, and they will also be fighting with the knowledge that they could well be protecting their king. Such a thing is bound to make them fight all the harder and better.”

There is a moment’s silence and then Ser Barristan speaks. “It is a most unorthodox method Your Grace. But it is one that might well go a long way to helping to clear out the dirt that has gotten into the Kingsguard as of late.”

Joffrey smiles then. “Indeed, Ser Barristan. A good way to show who is truly loyal and who is false. I will not suffer the fate of my father or Aerys the mad. The Kingsguard will be mine and mine alone.”


	34. Falling Under

**7 th Month of 298 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Jon Snow**

The king’s decision to hold trials for the Kingsguard had created a stir amongst the people of the city as well as the kingdoms as a whole. Jon had seen many people coming in from far and wide to compete for the honour of serving their king. Jon himself was determined to join the trials. For now was the perfect opportunity to show off his skills, skills learned at Winterfell as well as under the tutelage of Ser Jaime and Ser Barristan, he would do them proud and he would do his family proud. Jon was determined to join the trials, and yet his father it seemed was not going to let him.

“Why can I not do this? Why? Everyone is competing, gods above father, there are even people coming from the north to compete in the event, and yet you would prevent me from doing so?” Jon asks.

“These people coming to compete are men grown, tested within the frame of battle, and those who know their own limits. You are young yet, and do not yet quite know what that is. I do not want you to risk getting hurt and damaging yourself beyond repair.” his father replies.

Jon feels a sense of anger grow through him. “I have been training under two of the finest knights within Westeros, and you would have me shame them by not competing? Father, I am not a little boy anymore, I can handle myself. Besides, how else am I going to learn my limits unless I test them myself?”

“You can test them, but not in an arena that might bring great risks to your own person. Jon, please, you must see reason on this.” his father counters.

“No,” Jon replies angrily. “You are the one who must see reason. I am not a child anymore father, I have a right to decide what I wish. I can go to the king and ask for his permission in this. But I would rather not do that. Please, why can you not give me your blessing?”

His father looks pained at that, and then sighs and gives in. “Very well, I shall allow you to compete, but know that if something happens to you during the trial, I am not going to be held responsible for it.” With that his father turns and walks out of the room, no doubt determined to find some other way of preventing Jon from doing what he wishes.

Still, as he watches his father leave, Jon cannot help but feel quite happy about this, finally he will get the chance to show the kingdoms and the king what he has learned. He will be able to make a name for himself, and that that is something he has long wanted to do. No longer will he be known simply as Eddard Stark’s bastard get, now he will have the chance to show them all what he is made of. The thought fills him with a large happiness, so much so that when he hears a knock on the door, he calls whoever it is to enter, and does not feel surprised or angry when Ser Waymar enters. Instead he rises and asks. “Ser Waymar, what can I do for you?”

The knight, now master of laws, looks at him a moment, a strange look on his face, before he finally speaks. “I wished to speak with you alone Jon, and as such I am glad that you are here now. Please do sit down, I think what I have to say to you is going to be quite important.”

A sense of trepidation rises within him then, and Jon sits back down, he looks at the knight and asks. “Well, what is it that you wish to speak to me about?”

The master of laws is silent a moment and then responds. “I have come here, because you are a dear friend of the king, as am I. I wish to know whether you have had any word from your brother Robb Stark.”

Jon is silent, wondering at this before finally replying. “I have not. Not for a while at least. Why?”

“Because your brother was tasked with finding the sword, by the king, and so far his lack of communication on the matter, is beginning to worry the king. Are you certain that your brother has not sent you any word?” the man presses.

Jon nods. “I am certain my lord. I only know that he has been looking for it. I know Robb, and I know that when the time comes, he will deliver the goods.”

The knight nods, but does not make to stand, instead he remains seated and instead asks. “Tell me Jon, what do you know of Petyr Baelish?”

Jon thinks for a moment, surprised at the sudden turn in the conversation. “I know that he once fostered within Riverrun and grew up alongside Lady Catelyn, as well as Lady Lysa. And I know that he was named as Master of Coin, under the handship of Jon Arryn. Why?”

“Good, what you might not have heard, are the slanderous rumours he has been spreading about Lady Catelyn.” Royce says.

“Rumours?” Jon asks, uncertain as to why Royce is bringing this up to him, and not to father.

“Aye rumours, he brings scandalous rumours of how he took the woman’s maidenhead and other such things. Of course, none here are foolish enough to believe such of Lord Stark’s wife, and yet, they persist. The king has a task for you.” Royce says. “He knows you are to be competing within the trial for the Kingsguard, and that in itself would have brought you to Baelish’s attention, but he wants you to approach Baelish and speak with him.”

“Why though? I am an insult to Lady Catelyn, he would not speak to me.” Jon says.

“Oh but you are important to the king, and Baelish is not a man to let such an opportunity go. It is indeed true he might not speak with you, because of his infatuation with Lady Catelyn, however he might just do that, because you are a bastard, and he will speak to you, knowing you will speak to your father. It is this that the king wishes from you. Get him to talk, and you will be well rewarded.” Royce says.

Jon is silent a moment and then says. “I shall do as the king commands.”

* * *

 

**Lord Eddard Stark**

Searching for the cause of Jon Arryn’s death was hopeless, there seemed to be only endless pits for him to fall into. Whoever had done the deed, had been able to hide themselves well, if indeed the man had been murdered. The more, Ned thought on it, the more he began to wonder if Jon had not simply succumbed to old age, he had been close to seventy years old by the time of his death, perhaps even older, gods alone knew. Jon had always seemed old to Ned growing up, but now, now he wondered if there was more to Jon than he had first thought. Looking into his old mentor had brought up darker secrets, and he was troubled by them.

“Tell me again what the woman said Jory.” Ned says.

Jory Cassel, captain of the guard, and every inch the man his father was, looks at him a moment and then says. “She said that Lord Arryn, used to frequent a tavern house within the Street of Silk known as the Falcon’s Crown, a place, she claims was established by a relative of Lord Arryn many years ago. She says that Lord Arryn used to conduct business there on a late night, and returned to the main castle sometime in the early hours.”

Ned runs a hand over his face and sighs. “What did this woman do for Jon again Jory?”

“She ran his household my lord, and she also ensured he had every comfort he needed.” Jory replies.

“And why is she not willing to tell me all of this to my face?” Ned asks exasperatedly.

Jory looks somewhat embarrassed then. “Because she is afraid you might not react well to her, my lord.”

Ned looks at the man confused. “Why might I not act well to her? She worked for Lord Arryn, I have no reason to suspect her of anything. What is this woman’s name?”

Jory is silent and then he responds as if in great pain. “Wylla my lord. Wylla Shett.”

The name hits Ned like a hammer blow, and suddenly he is back in time, fleeing the Vale by boat, as the word went out for the bounty on his head. Jon had tried to convince him to fight and then go, but Ned knew he needed to leave, and so he had made the dangerous journey, with only the clothes on his back and a sword, and some money. The Shetts had been kind to him and had allowed him to travel on one of their smaller boats, Wylla had accompanied him, and despite all of his reservations, he had given into the warmth and familiarity of her embrace. He had never thought she would still be alive, he had written to Jon once asking about her, and he had been told she had died. The thought she might still be alive and here, gods, it had been so long, how….how was this possible? He looks at Jory and asks. “What does she look like?”

Jory swallows a moment and then replies. “She has dark brown hair, grey eyes, and a heart shaped face. She is still quite beautiful my lord, even if she is old now.”

Ned snorts. “She is about the same age as me Jory, and I am not that old.”

Jory blushes then. “Of course, forgive me my lord.”

Ned waves a hand dismissively. “It was nothing. Now, tell me what else have you found out? Have you looked into what we were told about Lord Arryn’s squire?”

Jory nods. “I have, he said that he would be very pleased to speak to the hand, should the hand desire to speak with him in person. He is too busy and important for the mere captain of the guard.”

Ned snorts. “I have forgotten how some of these fools can be. Now what else have you discovered?”

“The book that you mentioned, well it has not been seen since Lord Arryn died. It seems to have disappeared from all the collections within King’s Landing, and as such the only version left of it, is the original which is kept within Oldtown, therefore I have asked for it to be brought here for your perusal. Furthermore, there is also the issue of Petyr Baelish, and the task the king set. It seems the man meets with someone of a shady character, and as such money is being exchanged.” Jory responds.

Ned looks at Jory carefully for a moment before saying. “And do you know who this man is?”

He feels disappointment engulf him when Jory shakes his head. “I do not no, but I do know that this is not the only time that Baelish has done this, nor is this person the only one that Baelish treats with. There are others, I have found many former workers who were dismissed when the king came to the throne, have been more than willing to talk.”

Ned nods. “Good, I will wish to speak with them myself, there is much and more that will need to be done, before a solid case can be built against the fool.”

Jory nods and then asks. “My lord, forgive me if this is inappropriate, but I have heard that Jon will be competing in the trials for the Kingsguard. I was just wondering if that is the right thing to do. He is young yet, and still might have the chance to compete some other time.”

Ned sighs. “An argument I myself gave him, when he questioned me. And yet, he remains insistent on doing so. Perhaps it is for the best, he is young, he will learn from doing this, and if he succeeds all the better, if he fails then at least he has tried.”

Before Jory can respond, there is a knock on the door, Ned calls for them to enter, and finds himself look at Ser Waymar Royce. “Sorry for the interruption my lord hand, but the king requests your presence immediately.”

Ned merely nods, stands and follows Waymar out of the room, leaving Jory in his solar. They walk in silence, and when Ned notices that they are not going to the small council chamber, but instead to the king’s own personal chambers, Ned begins to worry. He finds the king sat looking over a piece of parchment. The king merely looks up at him and says. “My uncle has rescinded his fealty to the throne, and has named himself king. We are at war.”


	35. War Dance

****

**7 th Month of 298 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Ser Jaime Lannister**

Renly Baratheon had renounced his fealty to the throne, and now they were on the way to war. Something inside Jaime itched to be the one to swing his sword and remove that smug bastard’s head from his shoulders, but first they had to play cater to the king’s desires. There is something about this, that makes Jaime wonder about the king’s state of mind, he seems perfectly capable one moment and then the next bloodthirsty. He sees the need for this state of affairs, but right now he wants to fight the enemy, not potential sworn brothers. The king has given the introductory speech, and now the drums of war are sounding, Jaime knows what he has to do, what he needs to do, he takes a deep breath and then moves forward.

There are many men in the dragon pit, the crowd is roaring as well. His fellow sworn brothers apart from Ser Barristan are all present, Jaime feels his heart hammer, as they move toward one another. He swings and cuts a man down in one, his confidence grows from that he swings his sword again and another man falls down, but whether they are dead or not he does not know, nor does he care. He swings his sword and moves through the rank and file of the fools that have come to compete here, most of them are not worth anything, but still they are easy prey for the feast that is to come. The push continues, swinging his sword like the man he is, he cuts through them all, laughing somewhat, his breath coming heavy on as it goes. There is something inside him that aches to fight, he has been waiting for something like this for some time. On they push through the rush, Jaime’s sword is bloodied, and his armour is covered in sweat more challengers come through the void and Jaime roars and runs to meet them.

A brute of a man comes streaming forward then, wielding something like an axe, but it is not an axe, he has some strength to him, and Jaime, well he knows where to go and where not to go when facing such an opponent. He swings, and ducks, manoeuvres around, swinging, cutting and slashing. There is some pain in his shoulder, but he does ignores it, he moves on dancing around the brute but still the man continues to follow, Jaime wonders where the man has come from and as such he thinks he might know who sent him. Still he continues dancing around the man, baiting him into fighting, determined to see whether the fool has the balls to come at him. As it turns out the fool does, he comes lunging toward him, allowing Jaime to feint and then lunge cutting the man to his side, and exposing blood. The beast falls to the ground howling, and Jaime, laughing, moves on.

The fighting continues to grow fiercer, he sees the bastard with his wolf circling the outer fringes, playing it smart, breathing heavily, and Jaime smirks, the bastard would be so easy to kill, but for now he shall focus on lesser prey. He moves onward, cutting down the foes who come before him, he kills Ser Meryn Trant in one fell blow, and progresses onward, determined to cut through the useless ones and prove to the king that he is worth something. He knows that something else has got the king to make this thing happen and as such he is determined to make a good impression, and he must do so now. Killing is the only way to do that, as disturbing as it seems, but that is the fact of life, and as with much else he has come to accept it. The brutes are back, and this time they are wielding weapons that Jaime has not seen before, he sighs wondering whether his father has truly gone mad, these are brutes, not men who know how to fight without killing. His body is tiring, he is not as young as he once was, but he still has more skill and determination then most of these fools.

The brutes fall down one by one, cut down, slashed, bloodied messes, and Jaime laughs as they fall, he laughs and laughs and then proceeds onward, slashing and cutting his way through. There are screams and there are howls, but then there is only the two Kingsguard brothers he loathes the most, Ser Mandon Moore and Ser Preston Greenfield, he yells a challenge toward them and then moves to meet them, steel crashing with steel. Their blood runs thinly onto his sword, Moore falling to his death gasping for breath, Greenfield puts up more of a fight, but soon falls as well. Jaime laughs and continues on his killing spree, he has not felt this alive for so long. Not since the Greyjoy rebellion has he felt so alive, so free, so determined. It is as if a fog has been lifted from his eyes, and now he can move toward the only thing he has ever wanted to do in this life, fight and kill. The two things he knows he is good at, along with fucking, but with Cersei gone, he knows he might not well get that chance again.

On they go, swinging and slashing, determinedly cutting through the rank and file, the fools who have come to dance with death. Jaime’s sword is bloodied, and his hands are red with the blood of weaklings, he feels his heart hammering, and his heart is soaring. Jaime laughs as he caves in a man’s head with his gauntlet, his sword is jammed into another person, and he picks up another man’s sword and continues through the dance, swinging his way through, the sensation of being alive, truly alive and he feels good, so very good. By the gods he has wanted this for so long, so very long. That is when the horn sounds.

* * *

 

**Jon Snow**

The horn sounds and the kings come down from the throne dressed in full Baratheon armour. He looks a magnificent sight, and Jon knows, he just knows something is going to happen. The king carries his war hammer down as if he is some sort of god, Jon feels a flutter in his chest, but soon he is back into the action. His sword weighs in his hand, and he knows that something might well give, Ghost hangs back and as such he feels nervous entering the fray once more. The king is swatting men away right and left, and centre, but then he moves back and allows the throng to engulf all of them once more. His heart pounding, Jon moves in for the kill, swinging his sword, he cuts down a man twice his size, and then wounds another one, and moves with agility and speed.

The throng is thrumming with energy, and Jon feels it and takes it in his stride, moving with speed and agility he nicks and cuts men, and tears down those who do not move out of his way quick enough. He laughs as some try to get to him and fall down, drowning in the blood that has been shed beforehand, he continues onward, moving through, slashing and slaying men. His heart is a rush with blood and energy, his mind is streaming through the sounds and the sighs of the world before him, he can hear the roar of the crowd, the cries of those falling to their deaths, and he feels alive, so very alive. There are men twice his age coming toward him and he is putting them down onto the ground, leaving them there broken and beaten.

Men are coming from all sides, determined to break him, he knows he is an easy target, the bastard son of the hand of the king, a boy, a green boy, and yet a boy who has the confidence of the king, and he knows how much that would irk some of them. He stands firm, and he swings his sword, killing men, destroying their defences and then ripping them to shreds. The wolf inside him comes to life, eating its way through the prey that offers itself to him so meekly, he laughs as they fall to the ground, the southerners who think they can fight a Northman at the melee. His blade is slick, covered with blood and gore, and yet there is an urge inside him for more, for more blood, for more men to die, for more chance to prove himself. He wants the chance to show the world that he is more than the name he has, he is the greatest warrior that this kingdom has ever seen, he will show them all what he is made of, he will prove them wrong.

Jon knows they laugh at him, that they call him all sorts of names behind his back that the king and Waymar have fought of others who would remove him from court. He does not regret coming south, and he will make them proud, all of them proud. He roars a challenge and laughs as the fools come to meet him, their dance with death has arrived early, he makes sure of that, swinging his sword as if it is nothing but a stick, he swings it and removes a man’s head from his body. He moves onward, blood caking his armour and his very being, he moves onward, and onward, through the slippiness that the dragon pit has become, there is a hunger inside of him, a fierce fire that burns brightly. This is the first time he has ever felt like this before, and he knows that this is the chance he has to show the world who he is, who he truly is. Not Jon Snow, Eddard Stark’s bastard, not Jon Snow the motherless boy, but Jon Snow, the white wolf, the man who slays pretenders to the throne and defender of the king.

Chaos, that is the thing that is floating through his mind, the purpose of all of this, he knows the king has been preparing for war, that the call to arms has been sent out for the men of the crownlands that Renly Baratheon is marching swiftly toward them, but they must fight. They must all fight, the chaos cannot be allowed in, it cannot be brought into their homes, he knows this and so he fights, he fights and fights, and he wonders, he wonders what will happen should he succeed.  Failure, is not an option, he does not think of it, but it is there, creeping into his mind, whispering something or the other, and he tries to push it away and so he pushes and screams aloud as he swings his sword and lashes out. Bodies lie piled and Jon is sweating now, his heart is racing, his heart, dear gods his hear is pounding in his chest, and then just as he kills one more man, the horn sounds and Jon stops. There are five other men left and Jon looks at them his mind is packed with activity, he does not know where to go, what to think, but his mind stops racing when the king speaks.

“My lords and ladies, people of Westeros, thank you for coming here. We have seen many feats of bravery today, and as such the five competitors left before you are the ones who the gods have chosen as the members of my Kingsguard.” the king says. Jon looks around and sees the other people and he takes a deep breath. The king continues, looking even more like a god. “Come forth Ser Jaime, Ser Rolland, Ser Arys, Ser Robar and Jon.” they step forward, and then the king says. “Kneel Jon. Ser Barristan if you would.”

Jon kneels and feels Ser Barristan’s sword on his shoulders, his armour feels heavy but when the king commands him to rise, he does so. “Ser Jon Stark, I give you a white cloak and name you to my Kingsguard.” a cheer goes up and Jon smiles, for the first time in his life he smiles truly and honestly.


	36. Obsession Devotion

**7 th Month of 298 A.C. King’s Landing**

**King Joffrey I Baratheon**

His Kingsguard had been confirmed, Ser Barristan Selmy, Ser Jaime Lannister, Ser Jon Stark, Ser Rolland Storm, Ser Arys Oakheart, Ser Robar Royce and finally Sandor Clegane, all of them had been brought into the Kingsguard, for surviving the trial by combat they had been confirmed and given their white cloaks. And Joffrey had ensured their loyalty by giving them the drink of elixir with his blood inside it. Tying them to him and his will indefinitely that would be useful with the struggles to come. His damned uncle was playing the fool and Joffrey had decided a war council needed to be convened.

“Tell me my lord Stark, what foolish notions is my uncle using to justify his oath breaking?” Joffrey asks.

His hand and his goodfather takes a moment and then says. “He claims that the increased taxation as of late violates the contract between king and lord, and that you are impeding on the rights of the lords of the realm. He argues that his rebelling is justified in the eyes of gods and men.”

Joffrey snorts. “Of course he does, and of course the lords of the Reach follow his lead. They have the most to lose by the increased taxation, and the lords of the Stormlands, well they are blind fools who follow a fool. And where is my uncle being stationed?”

“The army he has assembled is currently camped within the reach Your Grace.” Lord Stark responds. “From reports being gathered it seems that Lord Renly marched with the lords of the Stormlands into the reach and is currently camped at Ashford. Where more Lords of the Reach continue to join him.”

Joffrey looks at his goodfather for a moment then and then says. “He is trying to build up a sizeable threat, and cause panic amongst the people of King’s Landing. Food does come from the Reach into our streets, and yet more food is coming from the north as well as the Vale and the Riverlands. His tactic might work it might not work. But he will eventually be slowed by the pace of his army.”

His goodfather responds then. “His army is slowing him down now Your Grace. And yet he is showing off his power for all to see. He wishes to intimate the people and make them come to him for fear of being crushed underneath his feet.”

“Then we cannot allow that to happen. The people of this realm respond to action. Lord Stark, I want you to send word to Winterfell. Tell your son to call the banners and tell him to march south with the men of the north. I want word sent to all those lords within the realm who are loyal, the time has come for us to deal with this threat. They are to call their banners and those closest to the Reach are to begin attacking my fool of an uncle’s host.” Joffrey says.

Stark speaks then. “If I may Your Grace?” Joffrey nods. “Surely as Lord of Winterfell, I should return to the north and summon the banners. Robb is merely a boy he does not know how to deal with these lords.”

“He is the same age as I Lord Stark. He must come southward with the men, for you are my hand and I require you to remain here during this time.” Joffrey says.

There is a moment of silence and then Lord Stark merely nods. Joffrey then turns his attention to Lord Varys. “Tell me Lord Varys, what word has come from Dragonstone? My uncle Stannis is not coming toward King’s Landing now is he?”

The eunuch chortles a little then. “Indeed he is not. It seems that the man has become more and more enraptured with the red priestess who has become more and more his key advisor. Furthermore, it seems that messengers have been sent out to find the Targaryens, Stannis Baratheon is looking for them.”

Joffrey feels anger grow within him and asks. “Tell me then who are these messengers and why is my uncle going off to find them?”

Lord Varys is silent a moment and then responds. “I do not know who the messengers are Your Grace. But I do know that your uncle has been convinced to go and find them by the red priestess. It seems that the red priestess wants the dragons back on the throne.”

“And what word does Jorah Mormont have to say about the Targaryens? Has he gotten close to them?” Joffrey asks.

“Yes. It seems that there is tension brewing between the two Targaryens. Viserys is growing impatient with the delaying and the waiting for the Dothraki, and whilst the girl is growing stronger, it seems that there are two factions growing within the Dothraki. Those who want the girl as their leader, and those who want nothing to do with the dragons.” the eunuch responds.

Joffrey considers this for a moment and then says. “Send word to Mormont, tell him that the by the time the moon is full once more, the girl must be brought to me in chains. I do not want her anywhere near those savages, and her brother is nothing without her.”

“Your Grace!” Lord Stark protests. “Surely that should not happen. The boy is more dangerous than the girl. No one would dare fight to put the girl on the throne.”

Joffrey fixes his goodfather with steely eyes. “The girl can be used for alliances. I will not allow that to happen.” he turns to the eunuch and says. “I want her brought before me in chains. No later than the next full moon. Anything later, and Mormont can say goodbye to his chance of coming home.”

The eunuch bows his head. “It shall be done Your Grace.”

“Good.” Joffrey responds, he pauses a moment and then says. “We must begin preparing for war. Send the ravens out to the lords of the crownlands, I intend to force my uncle into a corner here.” Another pause and then he says. “It is also time we made use of the Redwyne twins. Send word to Lord Paxter, I have a proposition he might like.”

* * *

 

**The Water Gardens**

**Prince Oberyn Martell**

The air was heavy with the stench of death. The guards knew it, the children knew it, and everyone knew it. His brother was dying, Doran Martell, the Prince of Dorne who had ruled since their mother had died before Duskendale, was ailing, bitterly broken. The gout that had consumed him within the last few years of his life were eating away at him, and had now brought him to death’s door. Only one of his children was there to see him, Trystane the youngest, Doran had not wanted Arianne or Quentyn to come, fear of past wrongs haunted him. Oberyn felt a deep sorrow about that, but Mellario had come back from Norvos to say goodbye to her love. That was one good thing at least.

The door to his brother’s chambers opens and Maester Merelyen walks out. Oberyn goes to the maester and asks. “How is he?”

“Much worse my prince, but the end is nearly there. His pain shall be over soon enough. Lady Mellario is with him now as is Prince Trystane.” the maester responds. The man hesitates a moment and then asks. “Are you certain word should not be sent to Princess Arianne? She is her father’s heir, surely she would want to know about this.”

Oberyn shakes his head. “No, he was quite adamant on that. Princess Arianne knows the barest thing about her father’s illness. She could’ve come of her own accord had she the inclination, but she holds the Sun Palace and so she shall remain there. As for Prince Quentyn, he is better left out of all of this.”

The maester nods and then says. “Word has come from the capital. The Baratheon King wants us to call the banners to invade the Reach.”

Oberyn laughs at that. “Of course he does. When has the Iron Throne ever wanted anything but to make more Dornishmen bleed? Pah.”

The maester goes to speak, but then Mellario walks out of his brother’s room and says. “He wants to speak with you Oberyn.”

Oberyn nods and walks past his goodsister into his brother’s chambers. Trystane is there reading a book, Oberyn smiles at his nephew and then walks further in, to where his brother’s bed is. The stench is something else entirely, and yet Oberyn keeps his face a mask. His brother laughs though. “It is bad is it not brother.”

“You always knew how to make things less awkward brother. Perhaps that is why you are the politician and I am not.” Oberyn quips.

His brother sighs then. “I do not have long left, but there are two things I wanted to speak to you about brother.” Oberyn moves closer to the bed and listens as his brother speaks. “We made the pact with the Targaryens, but I have reason to believe that the boy was never made aware of it. Despite my efforts the spider kept them from learning of it. I do believe we must avoid the dragons now.”

“What do you mean?” Oberyn asks.

“I mean that they are too great a risk to support whole heartedly.” Doran responds. “They are a volatile lot, and I have realised that our strength lies in the shadows for now. I should have sent men when Elia was summoned to King’s Landing and yet I did not, and I regret that every day I wake and feel the sun on my face. The dragons have cost us more than anything else. Rhaegar had Elia killed, not anyone else. His actions put her in danger, and his brother will see Arianne burn if he could. No, we cannot support them.”

“So you would abandon the one chance we have to avenge Elia?” Oberyn asks anger growing inside him.

“No, I would have you leave the dragons alone. We cannot play with fire, not anymore. But that does not mean we cannot bring Tywin Lannister down.” Doran wheezes.

“What do you mean? How can we bring down Tywin Lannister without siding with his enemies?” Oberyn asks.

“He has more than just one enemy Oberyn. The King on the throne does not like his grandfather, Stark does not like his grandfather. We use that to our advantage, and Tywin Lannister will lose all power.” Doran replies before coughing.

Oberyn waits for his brother to stop coughing before saying. “You want me to take Trystane to court do you not brother? To use him as a way of making sure we get in the king on the throne’s good books. What of Arianne and Quentyn?”

“Arianne can hold Dorne for now, but Quentyn he must needs go to Essos for a time, he must go with Mellario and see her homeland just once. In time he will come to power elsewhere.” Doran replies, coughing, blood coming from his mouth.

Oberyn looks at his brother and then replies. “Very well, I shall do as you ask.”

“Good, good.” his brother replies. “Now go, I want to sleep.”

Oberyn nods, kisses his brother’s ring and then turns and walks out of the room, he nods to his nephew and to his goodsister and then goes to stand on the balcony. He looks out over the pools and the lands beyond them. For many years he knew what his brother’s plan was, but now, now he does not know, and that worries him. Doran has planned something here, but what it is, might well remain a mystery until the final day. He feels Ellaria’s arms wrap around his middle and he hums as he feels her kiss his neck. “The children are well?” he asks.

“Yes my love, they are. How are you?” his lover asks.

Oberyn considers this question a moment and then says. “I do not know. Something is going on here, and I do not know what it is.”

Before Ellaria can reply, a guard comes to the balcony and says. “Prince Oberyn, it is with deepest regret that I inform you of Prince Doran’s passing.”

Oberyn turns round and looks at Ellaria before saying. “And now the game begins again.”


	37. Never Turn Your Back On The Viper

**7 th Month of 298 A.C. Sunspear**

**Princess Arianne Martell**

Her father was dead, the raven had come two days ago, but in truth he had been dead to her for nearly five years, for that had been how long it had been since she had seen him. She would not have gone to see him even if he had asked her to go, that he had not, she felt was just indicative of the type of person he was. There was no time to brew on the dead though, her father had been weighed down by all of that, and they were gaining nothing from Westeros, and that was why she had called her supporters to the Sun Palace to discuss their options.

“My lords and ladies, I thank you for coming. It is with a heavy heart that I say goodbye to my father. He has done all he can to ensure that Dorne is strong and secure. His pathway to isolationism helped us heal after the cruel blow we were dealt during the rebellion. And yet I believe that such a thing did not go far enough, we should have gained more from the usurper than what we did. And now we must look at our options. Lady Ladybright if you would be so kind as to offer your findings before the assembly.” Arianne says.

Lady Alyse Ladybright treasurer of Sunspear and Arianne’s friend and ally takes a moment to collect herself before speaking. “Since Prince Doran introduced the policy of closed door dealings, we have seen a wide growth in trade with the Free Cities. Braavos, Lys, Myr and Tyrosh are all our allies, more so than they are the Iron Throne’s. We have held things together and meanwhile a rot has set into King’s Landing. We are richer now, than we have been at any other point since we joined the seven kingdoms. It is my belief, and that of the treasury that we would be better off leaving the kingdoms.”

There is a moment’s silence and then Ser Manfrey speaks. “Is that a wise idea? We do not know just how true some of the other lords within the realm are. It has yet to be the inauguration ceremony, perhaps we would be better off waiting until we have some more solid support.”

Arianne snorts. “I am not just a girl anymore Ser Manfrey. I am the ruling Princess of Dorne, and I know that we cannot just declare independence without the support of all of our lords and ladies, that is why when the time comes for the inauguration ceremony, I intend to see it presented before the council then and there. We shall see what the mood is within the kingdom and then make the decision.”

Ser Manfrey looks at her uncertainly. “You would force the issue though. You know that there is a feeling that we were hard done by during the rebellion. I know you Princess, sooner rather than later, a time will come when you will need to make that call, and I think you already have. What of the plans that your father made?”

Arianne looks at the man suspiciously. “What plans do you speak of? The ones where he wanted me to marry a mad prince half way across the sea without ever informing me of this course of action? Or the one where he wanted to restore a false dragon to the throne? No enough of those plans. The Targaryens have brought us nothing but pain and suffering, it is time we broke free.”

There is some murmuring at that and Lady Alyse speaks. “Princess Arianne is right, the dragons bring us nothing but more bodies to add to the body count. More orphans, more widows and more dead children. It is more prudent to become independent.”

“And what of those that might day when whoever sits the throne turns to look at Dorne. You know what these Westerosi are like, they will try and impose their ways on us, regardless of whether we want them to or not. We cannot win.” Ser Manfrey responds.

Arianne looks at her cousin then, a sense of irritation brewing within her. “The Iron Throne will not look towards us for some time cousin. You forget the Baratheons are fighting amongst one another, and as such by the time they are done killing one another, we shall have our borders secure and our men and women prepared. Furthermore, overtures for alliances can be made. And they shall be.”

“Alliances with who Princess? Essos will remain neutral unless you manage to bring back the three daughters. Furthermore, Volantis is more likely to side with the dragons than with us. Westeros will side with whichever king wins this war.” Manfrey responds.

“Not if they are too divided amongst themselves. Just because one king wins, does not mean the other king’s supporters will immediately give up their struggle. We can play the game in the shadows, in fact we would be foolish not to do so. But this time, we shall not recognise the authority of the iron throne. Dorne shall be free once more.” Arianne says passionately.

Maester Myles speaks then. “House Dayne of Starfall and House Qorgyle have already shown that they will stand by the Princess, as have the Ullers of Hellholt and the Allyrions of Godsgrace. There is more than enough support there for any vote at the council to work within the Princess’ favour.”

“And what of the Wyls, are they not willing to come to this party as it were? They have always wanted independence and furthermore, the Ullers are not a house to trust fully. Oberyn might have Ellaria Sand as his lover, but the Ullers, they will be playing their own little game you can be sure of that. Furthermore, you need to worry about a marriage as well.” her cousin says.

“All of which I have considered cousin, a marriage shall be announced soon enough. But we shall become independent, and no more slaves to the throne.” Arianne says fervently.

* * *

 

**Ashford**

**King Renly I Baratheon**

There was a chill in the air, something was stirring within these lands, within the kingdom as a whole. His nephew was marshalling men that was what his spies within the capital told him, he did not doubt that was the fact. And yet there was a part of him that felt sad about that, the boy was just that a boy, he would be no match for the forces coming on his doorstep. Even if Renly were to die during the fighting to come, his line would continue, either through Edric or through the child that was lying in Margaery’s womb, the child that he would see born, he was determined to see that happen, he would not fall for the death again.

“Tell me what word there has been from the west? Does the old lion stir?” Renly asks.

Lord Tarly the man in charge of the scouts and the van nods. “Yes Your Grace. Tywin Lannister is coming this way with some twenty thousand men. But more to the point, there is a second host gathering at the Golden Tooth, it seems that he intends for the Kingslayer to lead that host.”

Renly considers this and then asks. “What direction is Lord Tywin’s host coming from? Does he intend to march for the capital, or does he mean to strike us hard?”

Tarly is silent a moment, considering his response. “From what I have been able to gather Your Grace, Lord Tywin intends on marching down the Ocean Road and then heading off close towards Goldengrove, he intends to force us to look in one direction whilst something else occurs in another.”

Renly looks at the man and then asks. “And how likely is it that he will actually be going this way? This is Tywin Lannister we are speaking of, there is not a chance in hell that he means to go through with the plan he has outlined so clearly for our scouts.”

The Lord of Horn Hill nods and then says. “I believe that Lord Tywin will go in another direction Your Grace. Most likely to reinforce King’s Landing, as the city is at present under manned and under prepared. With the might of the Stormlands and the Reach behind you, there is little that they can do unless they wage a hit and run strategy.”

“Not necesarily.” Lord Cafferen says. “The boy who sits the throne knows the numbers aligned against him and as such might well be preparing to strike hard and fast. Or he could be willing to bring us to him, luring us in with the weak defences. He has Lord Eddard guiding him, and as such that is something we must consider.”

Renly strokes his chin, where a small bit of stubble is growing. “An interesting thought that. Stark knows more about battle then most anyone within that city, and yet from what we know it will be his son leading the northmen down south.” He pauses a moment and then looks at his goodfather. “Lord Mace, you said that there were Riverlords willing to fight for us, who were not keen on paying the boy’s strenuous taxes?”

“I did Your Grace. Lord Bracken and his allies, who number some twenty thousand men.” Tyrell responds.

“And they have been arming themselves and their men in preparation for the call to arms correct?” Renly asks.

“Yes Your Grace. You need only say the word and they will begin the march to war, and give the false king something to worry about.” Tyrell says.

Renly looks at the man and then says. “Send the word then. Let Bracken and his men show their loyalty and let the riverlands see what the boy king is forcing onto them. My nephew will have to use tyranny, that is all he knows, and it will hurt him. It will hurt him badly.”

“It shall be done Your Grace.” Tyrell says.

There is a moment’s silence and then Lord Estermont asks. “What of Lord Stannis? He has remained silent and yet he holds the royal fleet at Dragonstone. Given enough time that could cause trouble for us. Especially as Lord Redwyne has been removed from the fighting because of the boy holding his sons. What do you intend to do there Your Grace?”

“Stannis will dig his own grave. Furthermore, I do believe the tyrant sitting the throne right now will deal with him for us. Word has come that he intends to sail to Dragonstone and take it himself. If the boy dies during the attempt then the way toward King’s Landing is clearer for us. And knowing the boy as I do, I have to admit, that the likelihood of him going to fight in Dragonstone is very likely.” Renly says.

Another silence and then. Lord Rowan speaks. “When the time comes that you are sitting the throne, what measures will you bring forward to combat the boy on the throne?”

Renly looks at the man and asks. “You might want to be more specific, the boy has implemented many things, and there is a lot that will need to be changed.”

Rowan looks at him his eyes glinting within the light. “The measures of increased tax, such a thing has been used to repay the loans and the debt that the crown has incurred. How will you see to them Your Grace?”

“I do not think that is something that needs to be discussed now. Not when we have a war to fight and win. Surely we must consider other things, such as strategy and direction, before we even think about the throne and policy.” Lord Tyrell jokes.

“But this is an important thing to discuss. We must see what we are fighting for, otherwise we are fighting for nothing but greed. That is why we are fighting is it not? To bring an end to the boy’s greed?” Rowan asks.

Renly feels nervous, now, but keeps a smile on his face. “Of course it is, but Lord Tyrell is right, we must focus on the war for now, and when the time comes, why then we shall discuss what must needs be done to sort out the mess my brother and the boy have brought.”


	38. The Sword In The Ice

**7 th Month of 298 A.C. Long Lake**

**Robb Stark**

It had taken him a long time, but he had finally found the place where the sword was. The original Ice, long thought lost, had been trapped within the ice of Long Lake for centuries, perhaps even thousands of years, and now Robb was going to claim in, and with it he would get the power the king had promised him. With him were Ser Rodrik Cassel, Theon and a fair few others from Winterfell and some from Last Hearth as well, the truest of Stark bannermen being trusted with seeing this unveiling, and as such the power that would come with it. Robb dismounted from his horse and waited for his companions to do the same, and then they walked toward where the sword stood glinting in the sunlight.

“Can you see it my men, the sword that was forged from the ice made to make the wall. Brandon the Builder’s sword, and the sword of my family before the Valyrian sword came from the east. This is my destiny, my birthright.” Robb says.

“Are you certain of this my lord Robb?” Ser Rodrik asks. “Should we not send word to King’s Landing, and ask Lord Eddard about this?”

Robb stops a moment and then looks at the old knight. “No Ser, the king has asked that I find the sword and use it. I intend to do that. My father has his ice, and now I shall have mine.”

There is a moment’s silence and then Ser Rodrik bows his head. “Very well my lord, let us proceed then.”

Robb walks forward then, his heart is hammering, he can feel the anticipation and excitement before him and in the men around him, but before he can even step onto the ice a voice calls out. “Halt! Who goes there?”

Robb turns to look where the voice is coming from and sees himself looking at a man with a long face, and grey hair. Very long grey hair, and a long beard as well. “I am Robb Stark, heir to Winterfell, and son of Eddard and Catelyn Stark, Lord and Lady of Winterfell. Who are you?”

The figure merely snorts then. “So you come from that fool Brandon’s line then? Pah, I should have known this day would come. He was always obsessed with finding the damned sword, it probably cost him his life you know?”

Robb looks at the man. “Who are you and why are you here?”

“Who I am is not important for what you hope to achieve. You need only know that I have been here for a long, long time. A punishment that was put on me by my elders for not allowing some stupidity to stand or the other. And now you want to know how to take the sword from the ice?” the figure replies.

Robb looks at the figure and then says. “I know how to remove the sword from ice old man.”

The figure laughs. “Old man eh? Now you definitely are Brandon’s descendant. Ah and how do you remove the sword from ice then boy?”

Robb pulls out the vial from his pocket, the vial that the king had given him. “This is needed, and I am needed there. So if you would, move out of the way.”

The figure looks shocked at this, and asks. “Where did you get that damned thing from? It was supposed to be gone.”

Robb stops, halfway to the ice and merely responds. “A flayed man gave it to me.” And with that he walks on, continuing to where the sword is buried in the ice. He stops before it and looks at the sword, the hilt is toward him, begging for him to pull it out, but he knows that he shall need to wait a moment first. He undoes the lid on the vial, and takes a drink from it, a small sip, nothing big, before putting some of the blood on his hands, and then he says a quick prayer and then he places his hands on the hilt. It is a strain, the sword is stuck quite firmly in the ice, and Robb swears he can hear a lady singing, he is not sure where the singing is coming from, but he is sure that it is a lady. He looks behind him and his men have their hands over their ears, as if it is paining them. The only one who does not is the old man.

The old man sees him looking at him and merely smiles. “She has awoken, the lady of the lake. And she does not want her son to go. She is challenging you. Be ready for the memories.”

“What memories?” Robb asks, but then he is hit with them. _A man who looks a lot like his father, forging a sword from ice, and a woman’s blood, tears staining the blade as it is made, and the sword being drawn in a battle, where dead things roam and the man’s son lives as death itself. The fighting goes on and on, and nearly breaks the man but he comes out alive, and soon enough, a crown sits on his head, ready and waiting for the time when he can sleep once more. The memories change once more, and this time, a woman is singing to her babe, as her husband cleans the sword, a reddish glow on it, and then the vision changes and the wolves of the night come to break their spirits, and the men and women fight, and the child is taken._

_And then there is a voice, a soft voice. “Do you think you can wield the sword Robb? Do you think you can bear the burden that comes from having such power?”_

_“Yes, I can. I am a wolf. I can fight the good fight.” Robb growls._

_“Even if that means learning things you would rather not learn about your family?” the woman asks._

_“We all must learn to deal with things that are unpleasant, I am a man I can handle it.” Robb responds._

_“Then pull the sword, do it as the man you claim to be, do it and know that I love you.” the voice says._

That last word confuses Robb, and makes him think of his mother, but then another image enters his head, but it is gone to quickly for him to process it, all he sees is brown hair. But then, he hears a cheer, and he looks down to find the sword in his hands, gleaming in the sunlight. He looks at it and smiles.

* * *

 

**Dragonstone**

**Lord Stannis Baratheon**

He felt sick, as if he were beginning to cave into some sort of pressure, he did not know what it was, but he felt as if there was something trying to force its way into his head. He did not sleep at night, nor did he eat much and he knew he was becoming weaker and weaker, but he knew not what to do about that. There was far too much going on inside his head for him to truly understand what it was, but there were more important things to think about as well. That was why he had called the war council, and he knew he needed to think about that now, not something as ridiculous as his own health.

“We have the entire royal fleet with us here at Dragonstone, where are the Targaryens?” Stannis asks.

Lord Velaryon speaks then. “From my allies in Essos, it seems they are travelling toward Vaes Dothrak. But a word in the right ear could have them coming quickly back to Pentos.”

Stannis looks at the man and asks. “And pray tell me, what will the spider want in payment for this?” He still wonders how it is that he has come to serve the dragons, considering his choices. Will they accept him?

“Nothing, he merely wants the rightful king of Westeros restored to the throne. A simple messenger would be sent out and would find the king and his sister with the Dothraki Khal as it were.” Velaryon responds.

“But how do we know the Dothraki will return? For all we know the horselords could be determined to make it to Vaes Dothrak before they even consider returning toward Pentos.” Lord Celtigar says. “And then there is the fact that the Dothraki are scared of the sea. How does the spider propose that they overcome that fear?”

“A valid question, and one that I have yet to see any answers for. Lord Velaryon?” Stannis asks.

Lord Velaryon looks somewhat uncomfortable then, but it is not he who answers, but rather Melisandre. “The Dothraki will come because they know that their khaleesi’s child will lead them to glory. It has been shown in the flames, soon enough they will come and muster. Ships must be sent to Pentos.”

“And if there is no one who turns up to board those ships?” Ser Davos asks. “We would have opened ourselves up to something dangerous.”

“They shall come, for there is power in the words of their priestess. The witches of Vaes Dothrak are some of the most convincing. They will give them the prophecy, and Khal Drogo will come.” Melisandre says.

“What? Just as you said the boy on the throne would die before his wife became pregnant?” Ser Davos asks disbelievingly.

There is a moment’s silence and then Lord Velaryon speaks. “The spider has sent word that the boy on the throne means to send someone to bring the Princess Daenaerys to him in chains. We can intercept them, or perhaps convince Ser Jorah to send the person on his way. Ser Jorah wants to return home, and we can offer him the safest way back.”

Stannis grinds his teeth then. “Mormont is a oath breaker, and someone without honour or dignity. If he seeks to use the Princess to return home, then the best way to get them to come back is to expose him.”

“What would you suggest my lord?” Lord Celtigar asks. “How do we prove these accusations?”

Stannis considers this a moment and then says. “We send written proof, as there is always written proof of what is discussed during the council meetings, and I have the ones that indicate Mormont as the traitor he is. Furthermore, we bring the true relic of the dynasty to the king.”

There is hushed silence then, and Stannis looks at Ser Davos, who nods and produces the box. “The crown of the conqueror, found deep within the bowels of Dragonstone. King Viserys will know the truth of what Lord Stannis is saying with this being presented.”

There is another silence, and then Lord Velaryon speaks. “And was there anything else found within the bowels of this castle my lord? Anything else that might well make the king more amenable to your pledge of allegiance?”

Stannis looks at the Lord of Driftmark and merely says. “Yes, they are being taken as well.” he takes a sip of water, and then says. “Ninety warships shall sail for Pentos, we shall bring the king and whatever men he can bring with him to Westeros. Lord Velaryon you shall command those ships and you shall make landing in the crownlands when that is done. The rest of the fleet shall set sail for Storm’s End, it is time we made my brother sweat.”

There is a brief pause and then Ser Axell speaks. “A wise plan my lord, and one that is sure to bring the king much benefit. Going for Storm’s End will force Lord Renly to decide on what course of action he wants to take. And knowing him as a young man, no doubt he will rush to protect his fortress leaving himself open to being attacked.”

“I would urge caution my lord.” Lord Velaryon says. “Would it not be better to send the full might of the fleet either to the crownlands or into the riverlands? There are loyalists within the riverlands as well, who are waiting for the right moment to come out of the shadows. The king might well prefer that.”

Stannis looks at the man with a hard glare, and Velaryon stares right back at him. “Storm’s End will bring us more men than might be first thought. Right now the might of Dragonstone is not enough to win the throne. Storm’s End will bring the Stormlands. I know the Stormlords, and I know that they will chafe under the roses. My brother might be their preferred choice as lord, but the roses are not their bed mates. Tell the king that should he question you.”


	39. Fight

**8 th Month of 298 A.C. Wendish Town**

**Lord Tywin Lannister**

War had come to the seven kingdoms once more, Tywin had always felt that his grandson’s personality and his policies would bring war to the kingdoms, and yet Tywin did not disagree with what his grandson was doing. Sacrifices had to be made when the kingdoms were to be brought to peace. That Renly Baratheon and his Tyrell allies had not liked that, was also not a surprise to Tywin, he had known for far too long that the Tyrells were trying creep into his family’s hold on court, and as such he would take great pleasure in destroying them. As such, the fact that Renly had sent a force to take the Stoney Sept was a god send. Edmure Tully and the Riverlords had met them at Wendish Town to discuss what to do and it was here that Tywin brought his attention.

“From what our scouts have been able to tell us, it would seem that Lord Caron is holding fort down within the town. He is not setting up within the holdfast, but has camped within the town. Something that it seems has angered many of the villagers and as such it seems is going to cut across them.” Ser Edmure says.

Tywin looks at the man and then at the map. “Hmm, Lord Caron’s decision smacks of a man who is overconfident in his position. How many men did you say he had?”

“Ten thousand, I believe more are coming from Stone Hedge and Bracken’s allies.” Ser Edmure responds.

Tywin considers this a moment and then responds. “No doubt he thinks that we will not attack the town because of what happened when such a thing was done during the rebellion. He is a fool if he truly believes that.”

Ser Edmure looks slightly uncomfortable at this and says. “Of course, but we shall try to keep civilian casualties to a minimum.”

Tywin looks at the man surprised once more, that this is truly Lord Hoster’s son and not someone else. “If they know what is good for them, they shall get out of the way before harm comes. If they do not, then they will be caught in the fire. That is the way war goes.”

Ser Edmure looks as if he is about to protest, but before he can, Lord Piper speaks. “So, Caron has ten thousand men with him inside the town. We have some forty thousand here with us. There is no question that we shall win this fight.”

Tywin looks at the man and then turns to Ser Edmure and asks. “What word has come from Raventree Hall, how badly is the fighting there?”

Ser Edmure still looks slightly uncomfortable with what has been said, but he responds all the same. “From last we heard, the fighting was getting quite bloody between Blackwood and Bracken. The tensions that had been simmering for some time under King Robert, have now been allowed to explode. I think they might start their own little war.”

Tywin considers this a moment and then responds. “Very well, let them fight, the winner of that fight shall be rewarded by the king. The longer Bracken is delayed the more problems Caron will have. His actions are going to cause him all sorts of trouble.”

There is a murmur of agreement at this and then Lord Theomar Smallwood speaks. “What is the order of command of this engagement? Surely all of our men are not needed for the taking of the town?”

Tywin is silent a moment and then says. “The flag the town now flies is not the banner of the king, it is the banner of the traitor who calls himself Renly Baratheon. The town has flown that banner and as such must meet the king’s justice. It is time we sorted this out once and for all.” The thought enters his mind then, of what he would’ve done had the Reynes had a town, but he decides against pursuing that course of action, he does not wish to hurt his grandson’s image any further.

Ser Edmure of course protests this. “Surely you cannot be serious my lord? Storming the town with the amount of men we have would be close to massacring those within the town.”

Tywin looks at the heir to Riverrun, and once again finds himself marvelling at the fact that this boy is Hoster Tully’s heir. He takes a deep breath and then says. “Sometimes a massacre must happen for people to get the message. It is a necessary evil. Now as to command, well I shall command the reserve, Ser Edmure you shall command the first push into the town, Lord Piper you shall command the second, Lord Mallister the third, and Ser Kevan the fourth. Let us hope it does not come to four pushes within the town. But if it does, there is to be no holding back. Is that understood?” When all those present nod and voice their agreement Tywin responds. “Good, we shall march out within the hour, go and prepare yourselves.” All except his brother Kevan walk out of the tent, he waits for the silence to fall once more before turning to his brother and saying. “Ser Edmure might well turn into a liability.”

His brother nods. “I was thinking that as well, that a son of Hoster Tully could be so naïve about the goings on of war is astounding. The man clearly changed after the rebellion. The fact that he has not come out to lead this army, is in itself quite telling. Something serious must be going on within Riverrun for such a thing to happen.”

“Most definitely, perhaps this is something we can use to our advantage.” Tywin muses. “As far as I am aware, Ser Edmure is not married and has not children. Perhaps a marriage to strengthen ties between the two regions would not go a miss. I know the king would certainly wish for his allies to be closer together, and should Ser Edmure prove a difficulty, we are fighting a war.”

* * *

 

**Stoney Sept**

**Lord Bryce Caron**

The plan had not gone as he had hoped, instead of the two armies arguing they had united behind the intimidating presence of the Lord of Casterly Rock, and now Bryce was there facing an army that was far greater than his own. His fellow knights and lords were shaking in their boots as they watched the chaos unfold before them, the keep behind them was there closed and barred, as it had been since the rebellion, the man with the key was now dead. Bryce gripped his sword and waited, waited for a moment where something would be done to stop the tide of red and gold coming toward him, he could hear the lions crying for his blood.

A cry sounds out somewhere within the town, and Bryce feels a chill run through him. He watches as his men, and men from the marches fall to their deaths, impaled on swords and axes and other weapons. King Renly will not be happy with this, why he decided to send Bryce to take the Stoney Sept, Bryce does not know, but he does know that the king is under pressure. Some of the Stormlords are beginning to grow angry with the choices their king has made, and Bryce knows some of his own friends are questioning this. Questioning their choice of siding with Renly instead of with Joffrey, the boy is King Robert’s son in everything, and as such, they should’ve sided with him, but they did not. Gods this is going to play on him for a long time now. He knows what he should have done, but he also knows that it is too late to change course.

Something within him feels as if it is about to break, to fall apart, he does not know what it is, what name to give this thing that is eating at him. Instead he unsheathes his sword, spurs his horse on, and calls for his men to follow. Most do, most come charging into the breach that the Lannister’s army has created. He swings his sword and cuts through one man and then another, another comes charging toward him and falls to their death, Bryce feels his heart racing, this is his first true experience of battle, and he knows that it will be his last. The thought of his death coming quickly toward him, is something that had not been expected, he is a knight of summer, he knows that now, but he finds little solace in that realisation, instead a great sadness fills him. If this is summer, he will hate to see what winter is like.

His sword is wet with blood, painted red, but there are more of them coming, there are just too many of them. Lions and trout, coming toward him their weapons raised, he watches as his men are cut down, or are beaten back down to the ground. He listens as their screams fill his ears, and all sorts of terrible thoughts enter his head. Gods above, he wonders what will happen in the time to come. He cuts through men, but more come to fill their place, pain and death are all he sees, he feels despondent, and yet nothing else stops him from continuing riding. On through the growing despair that he feels, on he goes, pushing through a throng, his body is wracked with pain and guilt. So much guilt, he feels as if he will fall through into the abyss, he does not want to fall, but it seems almost inevitable. It seems almost as if from the moment he declared for Renly, he was doomed. His brother would urge him to throw down his sword now and bend, but Bryce has always somewhat wanted to die fighting.

There are more men filling through into the town, Bryce wonders now why he decided against using the holdfast, perhaps it would have provided some better protection, but now he thinks about it, Tywin Lannister would have found a way to break in and kill him, the man does not like traitors. That is what he is, a traitor, gods above, his father would turn in his grave if he knew of this. Siding with the lesser Baratheon, a Baratheon who does not fight, who competes in tourneys simply to earn the favour of some flower from the reach. That angers Bryce, and he fights with a renewed vigour, if he is going to die, he shall die taking as many of these fools with him. His head hurts now, there is blood on his sword, on his armour, on his horse, his very being is covered in blood, he does not know whether or not he wishes to bring this to roost or not, but he knows that now it is out of his control. His arms ache, his hands ache, his whole body aches, he sighs, his chest is paining him now, there is blood spilling from a wound in his armour.

Blood, blood everywhere, there are screams, he does not know who they come from, but they sound as if they are his mother’s and his sisters’, from when the plague came and took them. He remembers their screams of pain, and he remembers the feeling of pain, and hurt. The anguish, and then the burning rage. The plague had come from the Reach, it had come from a Tyrell if he remembers correctly, he wonders if he had killed that Tyrell, or if that will fall to Rolland to do now. Rolland, his brother, his bastard brother, strong and determined, and fierce. Renly will have a hard time convincing him to do any of his dirty work, Bryce knows his own hands are stained, gods, his hands are red. His whole body is red, and it is burning.  “Help me!” he screams to the heavens. “Oh Seven have mercy!” but there is no mercy in war, only pain. The end comes in the form of the lead trout, fire consumes him and he sleeps then, his pain at an end. 


	40. Dust In The Wind

**8 th Month of 298 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Robb Stark**

He had come south as per the king’s orders, with the men of the north. Some twenty thousand northmen had come south with him, and as such they were now within King’s Landing. When they had marched south, Robb had wondered if they would face the Brackens in their ongoing conflict with the Blackwoods, but it appeared that they had not had to. Following the King’s Road had ensured that they had avoided that path, but Robb had a feeling that such a thing was going to come soon enough. The king himself seemed determined to bring things to a head within the riverlands, however, Robb had the feeling that the meeting between himself, the King and Jon was not about that.

The king seems stronger than last they met, and Robb himself feels somewhat stronger as well, he feels in some way bonded to the king as well. The sword, is at his side almost constantly, and though the king has not asked to see it, he wonders if he will. “Congratulations on getting the sword Robb. That is a good thing that you have done. The sword is important to our plans.”

Robb looks at the king and asks. “It is Your Grace?”

The king nods. “It is, there are more prizes out there that will help bring down the enemies we are facing. The sword, is the gateway toward finding them, for they are linked, linked in a way that I think can never truly be explained.”

Robb nods without even needing to think about it, almost as if he truly understands what the king is saying, which now he thinks about it he does. “So are you thinking of going out and looking for these prizes yourself then, Your Grace?”

The king merely nods his head in agreement. “Yes, it is essential, that these prizes are found before anyone else can lay claim to them. No doubt my uncle is looking for them as well, and yet I do not think he knows just where to go.”

Once more, Robb does not even question the king’s statement, he finds himself agreeing. “Aye, I would agree Your Grace. Lord Renly might well know where one of them is, but I do not think he is looking for them.”

“Renly would not know where to look for his manhood if it hit him in the face. He is too busy fucking the knight of flowers to think about ruling. His decision to send Bryce Caron to take the Stoney Sept was a failure, as I am sure you know. His allies in the Riverlands are being crushed, and furthermore, there is a sense within the Stormlands that he is not for them. The lords are realising their mistake.” the king says.

“That is very good Your Grace. The more divided Renly Baratheon is from his men the less chance he will have to be allowed any chance of moving forward.” Robb states.

The king speaks then. “Indeed it is. My other fool of an uncle Stannis is somewhere stuck within the narrow sea, I intend to deal with him shortly. But there is something I require from you Robb.”

“How might I be of service my king?” Robb asks, finding himself desperate to serve.

The king looks at him a moment before speaking. “I would like to see the sword. Let me see how it shines.”

“Of course Your Grace.” Robb replies, he goes to where the sword rests on the table, looking at the Kingsguard as he does, they seem oddly content standing there, he wonders at that, and then finds that he no longer cares about them, he merely wants to show the king the sword. And so to that end he draws the sword from its sheathe and holds it aloft for the king to look at.

There is silence as the king stands and looks at the sword, there is a look of pure content on the man’s face, and Robb finds himself most relieved with this, he does not want to disappoint the king, ever. He does not know if he would be able to stomach disappointing the king. As the silence stretches on, Robb finds his arms aching slightly, the sword is quite heavy, and yet he does not complain. Eventually the king speaks. “Very good. The sword suits you Robb, you look very dashing with it. You may sheathe it now.”

Robb sheathes the sword and then responds. “Thank you Your Grace, for giving me the opportunity to wield such a fine blade.”

The king nods. “Of course, you are the heir to Winterfell, you deserve to wield that sword. It is your right. Just as it is Jon’s right to bear the Stark name.”

Robb watches as his brother steps forward then and bows. “Of course Your Grace.” Robb says.

Another silence falls then, but it is a comfortable silence, Robb finds himself wondering how his father and sisters are doing, he will see them when the king no longer needs his service. The king is the one to break the silence as always. “There is one other thing that I require you both do for me.”

“Anything Your Grace.” Robb says.

“How might we be of service?” Jon asks.

The king looks at Jon then and says. “You have been looking into Lord Baelish have you not Jon?”

“I have my king.” Jon responds.

“What have you found?” the king asks.

“He has been taking money from the royal treasury and using it to pay off people unknown to myself or the master of whispers. He has been taking it and using it to buy more brothels and other such things. Some of the money from his account books disappears or is replaced by other amounts.” Jon responds.

“So he is stealing from the crown?” Robb asks. “Why would he do such a thing?”

“Because Lord Baelish is a fool, who must meet his maker.” the king says. “Before you leave for battler Robb, I want you to gut Baelish. Make him squeal like the pig he is.”

Robb bows his head. “Gladly Your Grace.”

* * *

 

**Runestone**

**Lord Yohn Royce**

He was getting old, far too old for this. All of this scheming, it did not sit well with him. He had done it with Jon when Lord Jasper had fallen into the clutches of that harpy, and then he had planned on doing it with Elbert before the boy had been killed, he was still not sure why he was still alive. Jon had never been that good of a lord, a schemer yes, but not a lord. It had always been Yohn who had ensured the kingdom remained at peace, and now, well now things were spiralling out of control. Waynwood, Templeton and Redfort were all here now, and had taken their time arranging what they wanted. It was time to end this once and for all.

“We all know what has been happening here as of late. The clans have grown bolder and Lady Lysa remains cooped up within the Eyrie, ignoring all but her babe. The time has come for a strong hand to rule the Vale, the king has made his will known, and we cannot refuse the will of the king.” Yohn says.

“We did once when Aerys came calling. We fought alongside Jon, and gave the boy’s father the throne he currently sits on. Is that not a sign of bad faith if we now abandon Jon’s son?” Lord Redfort asks.

Yohn laughs then. “And where pray tell has this sudden devotion to Jon Arryn come from Horton? We both know that you were more than willing to stab him in the back when Elbert was alive. We all know that Robert the boy, is not the true heir of the Arryn line. Our findings suggest as such.”

“Findings can be manipulated. We all know how good you are at such things Yohn.” Horton says.

Yohn stares at the man anger growing within him, but before he can give the man a good tongue lashing, Lady Anya speaks. “My lords, this will get us nowhere. We all know things about one another that perhaps we should not, but that is the nature of the beast. Let us instead talk about what the plans are. From what I have been able to gather, Lady Lysa, or more than likely her lover has gathered the support of Gulltown, Corbray, Melcolm, Lynderly as well as Hunter, though Hunter’s loyalty is suspect. There are more houses remaining out of this web, should it come to war, we shall have our work more easily than they will.”

Yohn looks at Lady Anya then and says. “With the king demanding that Ser Harrold become the Lord of the Vale, the lords who are neutral would be fools to refuse such a demand. We are not breaking any law, we are enforcing the king’s decree.”

“And, we are not going against anything that is true. Lady Lysa has committed a grave offense and her son is a bastard. Such things cannot be ignored, any longer. Lord Jon might well have been content to allow such a thing, but I am not.” Ser Symond Templeton says.

“You all sound as if you are trying to convince yourselves that what is happening here is the right course of action. That in itself might well be enough to convince some of the lords of your guilt in this crime.” Redfort says.

Yohn can feel his patience slipping away now. “It is no easy feat to remove the boy from the throne, as well as his mother. Stark might well get involved should such a thing become bloody, furthermore, one must consider what to do with the child.”

“Stark will do as the king tells him to do.” Waynwood says. “He was taught never to question orders. As for the child, well it is simple, send him to the faith or to the maesters, perhaps they can find a cure for him. As for the boy’s mother, well, it is simple really, send her to the silent sisters and away from here.”

“And you do not think the Tullys will raise an objection of how their sister is being treated? That a man such as Lord Hoster will not complain?” Redfort asks.

“Lord Hoster is dying, and Ser Edmure is fighting in the riverlands. They are too busy fighting the traitors within the realm. Furthermore, Lady Catelyn will not do anything to jeopardise her family’s standing with the king.” Yohn responds.

The door opens and Ser Harrold Hardying enters, the Young Falcon as he is known, has sandy blond hair, and blue eyes, chiselled features, and a muscular body. A true Andal warrior as it were, and a true lord of the vale.  “What is all this discussion about? We all know what is happening, why delay any further?”

“It takes this much time to ensure that plans do not fall apart Ser Harrold.” Yohn says. “If one does not want things to fall apart, one must plan accordingly to ensure that everything is solid and firm.”

Ser Harrold looks at him then, a defiant look in his eyes. “Waiting and plotting that is what I see here. Nothing more than old people worrying over their shadows. The time to act is now, no more waiting, no more planning. It is time to take the falcon throne, and ensure that there is a loyal lord to King Joffrey there. I will not allow that woman to sit there and allow her bastard to sit my throne. Let us move and act, enough waiting.”

There is a moment’s silence and then Yohn speaks. “A moving speech Ser, but then how do you plan on ensuring stability and peace once the coup has taken place?”

Ser Harrold looks defiant. “I will do what any good lord does, win the common people over and make them see the good in what I am doing.”

“The sheep? You would use the sheep?” Redfort asks.

Hardying has a gleeful look in his eyes when he replies. “It is the sheep that make the lords bleat.”


	41. Swords Clash

**8 th Month of 298 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Ser Jon Stark**

It was interesting being a knight of the Kingsguard, he felt a strong connection to the king, he felt the king’s wants and needs more acutely now, and there was a much stronger desire to do the king’s bidding. It was almost as if that was the only thing he could think of now, the desire to do the king’s bidding. Nothing else seemed important, not what was happening outside of King’s Landing, unless the king was concerned about it. Right now, all Jon wanted to do was bring Baelish in and question him. He and Robb walked in silence through the halls of the Red Keep, they did not need to talk, and so in tune were they with each other. When they came before the man they were looking for they stopped and Jon speaks.

“Lord Petyr Baelish.” he says.

The man looks at him, and then at Robb and the two direwolves following them. “Ser Jon, Lord Robb, what might I do for you?”

Jon pauses a moment and then says. “You can come with us. For questioning.”

“And pray tell what is it that I have supposedly done that warrants this?” Baelish asks.

“You have been stealing from the royal treasury and have been using the money stolen for your own personal gain.” Jon says.

The master of coin looks at his attendant and merely nods, the man walks away, and Baelish looks at Jon and asks. “And what proof do you have of this?”

“The king’s word. The king’s word is law, and he says you are guilty.” Jon responds.

“So now I am guilty because a boy says that I am? Where is his evidence of this?” Baelish asks.

“The king has found sufficient evidence to suggest that you are guilty of the crime. Do you deny these charges?” Jon asks.

“Yes. Most vigorously, I have done nothing wrong here.” Lord Baelish responds.

Jon looks at Robb and says. “I knew he’d say something like that.” Turning to look at Baelish he says. “You are hereby accused of stealing money from the royal treasury please come with us.”

Baelish does not move, instead he looks at Jon and says. “You are arresting me without providing evidence of my supposed crime?”

“The king has made this decree, therefore as a member of his Kingsguard I am following his instruction.” Jon responds.

“And what of you Stark?” Baelish asks looking at Robb. “Are you going to allow your bastard brother arrest me under some made up charge?”

Jon moves toward Baelish then, his hand on his sword, Ghost moves forward as well teeth bared. Robb remains silent a moment and then responds. “Who are you speaking to? Me or my brother. My brother is a knight of the Kingsguard, and a Stark as well.”

Baelish snorts then. “Ah yes, a bastard with a direwolf. What would your mother say Lord Robb?”

Robb moves forward then and growls. “You shall leave my mother out of this Baelish.”

Baelish laughs once more and says. “Does she speak of me? Does Cat speak of how I was her first love?”

Robb moves forward and grabs Baelish. “Leave me mother alone. She never spoke of you.”

“Oh, so she does speak of me then does she Stark? She always did prefer me to your oaf of a father and uncle.” Baelish responds.

Jon sees his brother’s grip on Baelish tighten then. “Robb,” Jon says laying a hand on his brother’s arm. “Not here, we cannot remove him from here.”

There is a long silence, where Jon fears his brother has not heard him and will remain silent, and then, he breathes and drags Baelish with them towards an alcove. “Ah so is it to be a quiet thing then is it? You are both working for a tyrant.” Baelish responds. “A boy who has been given far too much power far too young.”

“And you are a man who rose up on the back of a woman’s skirts. A woman who has committed a grave crime.” Robb responds.

“And she is your aunt. Are you so willing to abandon your family Stark?” Baelish asks. “What would your mother say?”

Robb throws Baelish against the wall and growls. “Do not mention my mother.”

Jon moves forward then, and unsheathes his sword, pressing it against the man’s neck. “Start talking now Baelish.”

“Talking? I have nothing to say to you bastard. Unless you want to know about how I fucked Stark’s mother?” Baelish responds.

Greywind launches himself at Baelish biting at the man’s legs and chest, eventually Robb calls him off, but Jon sees a rabid expression on his brother’s face, an expression that worries him somewhat. “Talk.” Jon snaps.

Baelish merely grins and laughs, Jon pushes the sword harder against his neck, and watches blood begin to come out of the cut. Eventually the man gasps out. “Fine, there are several accounts spread out across the kingdoms.”

“Where?” Jon asks.

“All over. King’s Landing, Gulltown, Storm’s End, Highgarden, Oldtown. They are buried across the kingdoms. The money taken from the treasury and invested in places that would give me the most benefit. Nobles are willing to do anything to screw over the crown. And so I benefitted. The king cannot attack all of them now, not with the kingdom as it is.” Baelish snorts.

Jon moves back a moment and then asks. “And why did you do it?”

“Why? Because I could, because it was far more fun to do this than to allow it to sit there. I had the power, and Jon Arryn was more than happy to allow it to happen.” Baelish responds.

This time both brothers press their swords against the man’s chest. “Why would Jon Arryn encourage this?”

“Because that was who he was. Bleed the crown and develop other regions. You think he actually cared about the throne and a united Westeros?” Baelish replies. “Please, he wanted to end it all. And I was his main way to doing that.”

Jon looks at his brother, they withdraw their swords from Baelish’s chest. “Thank you for speaking Lord Baelish, now was that so hard?”

Baelish snorts. “So now what will you do with me?”

Jon looks at his brother, and then thrusts his sword right into the man’s chest. “Kill you of course. The king commands it.”

* * *

 

**Yronwood**

**Prince Quentyn Martell**

His father was dead, gone, buried. And he had not even gone to see him. Quentyn did not know how he felt about that. He had a very complicated relationship with his father, he had been sent to Yronwood as a babe to make up for his uncle’s failure as a man, and now, well now he considered the Yronwoods more as kin than his own flesh and blood. He did not know what to make of Arianne’s proclamation, but he had a feeling that whatever her intentions he would not survive them. It was time for him to act, and to act quickly.

“My sister means to bring Dorne to its knees. I disagree completely with what she proposes.” Quentyn says.

“So you want to side with the Baratheon boy on the throne” Lord Yronwood asks.

Quentyn looks at his foster father and shakes his head. “Of course not. I’d rather skin myself alive than fight for a Baratheon. But my sister is losing sight of what we have to lose by becoming independent.”

Lord Yronwood looks at him and asks. “And what are these things that she is losing sight of?”

“We have the power of an independent nation without any of the issues that come with being independent. Our people know what it means to be free without knowing the worries of the war that would come. And Arianne means to bring this about.” Quentyn responds.

“And what makes you think she would bring this about?” Lord Yronwood asks.

Quentyn looks at the man and says. “My sister is impulsive, brash and she likes those boys who are more like to bring this out in her. I think she most definitely bring this about in one shape or another.”

Lord Yronwood nods then. “And what would you do? If you would not support a Baratheon, who would you support?”

Quentyn looks at his foster father and says. “I would support the family that would well bring us the most support and allow us to continue as we are. I would support King Viserys Targaryen.”

There is a moment’s silence, and then Lord Yronwood speaks. “Good. There will be support from those lords nearest us, but of course one must consider what would happen when this gets out.”

Quentyn looks at his foster father and asks. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean that there are a lot of lords that will be wanting to support Princess Arianne, because they can see where she is coming from, and how she can benefit them. They will not look toward the common people, and how they will be affected because these lords care more for their own financial gain.” Lord Yronwood says.

Quentyn looks at his foster father and asks. “What are you suggesting Lord Yronwood?”

“I am suggesting that you look toward the common man to begin your push for the throne of Dorne. Not to become independent, but to ensure that the mistakes your sister would make are not repeated.” Lord Yronwood says.

Quentyn thinks about this for a moment and then says. “So are you suggesting that I actually integrate myself with these common people, and get to know them as if they are my own family?”

“I am suggesting that what you do is ensure that these people know who you are. They knew who your father was and they abided by what he said. They do not know what your sister is, and they do not completely know what you make of your uncle. It is time to ensure that is changed. Become their prince and you will win them for good.” Lord Yronwood says.

Quentyn looks at his foster father and asks. “And would that not risk alienating the lords who hold more entrenched views. Views that my sister might well exploit.”

“It might, it might not. The lords and ladies of Dorne respect those who are stronger and more direct in their approach. Jealousy is a most apt innovator for lords and ladies to go to the lord who looks as though he might gain the support of the lower people.” Yronwood says.

“And you are convinced that this will not turn them against me?” Quentyn asks.

“I am certain of it. I do not think they can ignore that the commoners are the ones who are keeping them in power. Without them, they are nothing.” Lord Yronwood.

“And what of the Targaryens, will they not look down on me for trying to rally the support of the common man?” Quentyn asks.

“The Targaryens would be fools to look down on you for this. If you are successful in doing this, you have all of Dorne. Your sister would be nothing, and you can have what is rightfully yours.” Lord Yronwood says.

“That is of course assuming my sister is willing to give up Dorne to become nothing more than a figurehead queen. I do not think she will want to stomach that. And that in itself might be something that could be used against her.” Quentyn says. “The fact that she wants to keep power for herself instead of using what influence she has to better Dorne.”

“What are you thinking, my prince?” Lord Yronwood asks.

“I am thinking that perhaps the time has come to use the word of the people, and the word of my cousin to good use. It is time to make Dorne see where Arianne’s faults lie.” Quentyn says.

“And use that to expose her before the people and make them turn to you. The more old fashioned lords will not be willing to support her if they know just how corrupt she is.” Lord Yronwood says.

“Exactly.” Quentyn says with a smile. “Do you still have your friend in High Hermitage?”

“I do. And I know exactly how to use him, as well as his friends nearer to the border. We can use that to our full advantage.” Yronwood says.

Quentyn smiles then. “Good, very good. Send word to them, as well as to your allies, it is time we prepared for the dance.”


	42. Poisoned Ivy

**9 th Month of 298 A.C.  Grassy Vale**

**King Renly I Baratheon**

The defeat at the Stoney Sept had come as a blow to him, he doubted his choice in naming Caron as commander of that force. Caron who had been something to him once, who had given his life in some foolish decision. Renly was not sure he understood that, now those men under Caron had gone to his fool of a nephew, and time was beginning to tick. Soon enough he would need to find that damned hammer that Uncle Harbert had spoken of long ago. His lords were growing restless, and he knew he needed to act, the question was when and where did he act, there was so much that needed to be done.

“Caron is dead, his force has turned traitor. Now my nephew has more men at his disposal, and they will be coming for us. No doubt they intend to go looking into the Reach to drive us to distraction. I would hear suggestions as to where to go from here.” Renly says.

His good father is the first one to speak as expected. “Well it’s obvious is it not? We march from here to the capital. Tywin Lannister is gone from the capital and will most likely go to the reach, but Joffrey Baratheon is not his grandfather, nor is he his father, he does not have experience, we must make use of that.”

Renly considers this and then says. “A somewhat smart suggestion my lord. And yet my nephew has Lord Stark as his hand. The man is no fool when it comes to fighting wars, he will be there commanding the northern army, and as such we cannot fight on more than two fronts.”

“Then we should summon more men Your Grace. There is plenty of potential for doing that.” his goodfather responds.

“And leave the Reach potentially open to hostile attacks?” Lord Rowan asks speaking up for the first time. “I do not think that would be a wise move Your Grace. Why leave the most firm of your supporters open for attack from Tywin Lannister and his allies? Better to leave some men there to defend against that.”

Mace Tyrell blusters at this. “Tywin Lannister knows that King’s Landing is more important a point that attacking the Reach. He knows that if his grandson loses the capital then he is finished. I say we bring our full force to the point and ensure that it goes from there. Put the pressure on the boy and he will crack.”

Renly considers this and then says. “I believe Lord Tyrell and Lord Rowan both make valid points. However, King’s Landing will require a lot of time to prepare for. That does not mean that I will need to call on all the men from the Reach. I can call the men from the Stormlands as well.”

Lord Grandison speaks then. “I would be careful there Your Grace. The Stormlords are loyal to you, but I get a sense that their patience might be wearing thin.”

Renly looks at the man surprised. “And what prey tell makes you think that my lord?”

Grandison is an old lord, someone who Robert respected, and someone who Renly respects, but he does find somewhat tiring. “We are waiting for the chance to fight. Sending Caron was all well and good, and yet we continue to sit here not doing anything. We came to your call because we expected to fight, not to merely pretend to fight. We want to win this war and see you on the throne and to right the wrongs your nephew has done to us. Sitting here pretending to do that will not do that.”

“So you would rather go charging in blindly? Than assessing whether or not the enemy is truly weak?” Renly asks. “Come now that does not sound like you, my lord.”

Grandison looks at him, his gaze steel. “I am not young anymore, but even I know when someone is delaying. You have had plenty of opportunities to strike forth and attack the capital, that you have not taken it, to me suggests you are afraid Your Grace.”

“Watch your tongue Grandison, or I will remove it for you.” Loras says threateningly.

Renly places a hand on his lover’s arm and says. “It is alright Ser Loras, let us hear what Grandison has to say. Tell me my lord, why do you think I am afraid?”

Grandison seems to be overtaken by anger at this. “We have been moving from the Stormlands to Reach and from the Reach to God’s alone knows where. It seems we are an army without direction, and that you, you are a king who does not know what he wants. You have claimed the crown, and yet you have not done anything to bring it forward, to make good on all you claimed. You are a false king for that, and I am growing tired of that.”

There is a lot of murmuring at that, and Lord Tarly speaks. “If you are so tired of it then leave, leave and become known for the traitor that you are Grandison. It is not for you to question the king.”

“And was that not the whole reason for this rebellion? And for crowning Lord Renly? That we were not going to stand there and take it from the boy on the throne? Why are we merely sitting here and not doing anything.” Grandison bellows.

“Lord Grandison is right Your Grace.” Lord Cafferen says. “Why are we sat here whilst Tywin Lannister moves closer to coming to protect King’s Landing? We should have King’s Landing by now, the more we remain immobile the less chance we have of getting the capital.”

Renly looks at the two men who have been questioning him and merely says. “I was taught once long ago, that it is better to allow the enemy to waste their resources before you show your full hand. When they have bloodied themselves and are confident then you move forward and show them your strength. The Stoney Sept was one battle, now we move forward. We march for King’s Landing.”

\------------

**The Arbor**

**Lord Paxter Redwyne**

War, he had always known war would come to Westeros following the fall of the dragons. He had known it and had prepared for it, had made sure his sons were in the right place for when Robert Baratheon died, and as such now the offer he had been waiting for had come. An ancient promise was going to be fulfilled. His aunt might support Mace and his idiotic schemes, but Paxter had long stopped caring about what she wanted, and was now only caring about what he wanted. And now, the opportunity had presented itself.

“The offer has been made, the king has fulfilled the obligation that his forebearer agreed to. A Stark and a Redwyne could soon be married to one another. All I need to do is accept this offer.” Paxter says.

“Are you certain you want to go through with this brother?” his brother Ser Desmond asks. “After all Renly Baratheon is closing in on King’s Landing, and we both know that army is bigger than any that has been faced in Westeros before.”

Paxter snorts at that. “You think Renly has control over that host? No Mace, Randyll and Mathis are all vying for control within the Reach army, and then the Stormlords are likely to be chafing under such Tyrell control. No doubt Renly is facing arguments already. The Stoney Sept would have made it obvious to them that the boy they have crowned king is not right.”

“What makes you think the boy on the throne is the right one?” his brother asks.

“The fact he had the sense to make this offer. You think I would be considering him if he had not made this offer?” Paxter asks his brother. “He might be the son of a Lannister, but there is dragon blood in him, and it is that which I am sure will be making sure he ends the darkness coming.”

“And do you think that is why he has made this offer?” his brother asks.

“I think it is. Otherwise why try approaching us? After all, logic would dictate that we would side with his uncle, given our ties to the Tyrells. And yet I am tired of having to bend and bow and scrape to Mace. That fool is going to bring the Reach down to its knees if allowed his way. I will not allow that.” Paxter says.

“Then what do you plan on doing brother?” his brother asks. “After all the army is mainly with Renly, but there are still those who are going to be here waiting for Tywin Lannister.”

Paxter looks at his brother and smiles. “Remember when our father was alive, and the war of the ninepenny kings was waging?”

“Of course how could I forget?” his brother responds.

“Well before he left, father told me of a time when the black dragon was damned nearly as strong as the red, and when plans were made for our family to either side with the black or to destroy them completely. The citadel was long an institution of the black dragon for it benefitted them to be one, and yet when the black dragon lost on the stepstones, all those who were loyal to the black dragon were killed and their works destroyed. Now that King Joffrey sits the throne, magic is coming back into the realm, and the citadel will be worrying over this, they will be worrying more than they know what to do. It is time we made good on our ancestors promise.” Paxter says.

“Are you proposing we attack the citadel?” his brother asks sounding both horrified and intrigued. “Would such a thing not be considered almost blasphemous?”

“No, it would not. The citadel has not declared for anyone, but we both know that they are in the pay of the Hightowers, and the Hightowers have more reason to want Renly on the throne. With him on the throne, they can continue their policy of destroying all that is good and natural in this world. We cannot allow that, for that would mean we too would suffer. And who was it the Hightowers declared for when the letter went round?” Paxter says.

“Renly. Of course, they want him in charge so they will support whatever it takes to put him there. The Stoney Sept I think was merely a diversion from the man’s main plan.” Desmond says. “He is working on something else, he has to be.”

“Exactly, whatever it is the Hightowers are the main supporters of it. That therefore means that it is in our interest that the Hightowers never get the chance to make a move. For the moment that they do, is the moment that we are lost. And that is something I cannot and will not allow. I am done with allowing Mace and the Hightowers run this kingdom. It is time we showed our aunt we are more powerful than her house.” Paxter says.

“So how will you reply to the king’s offer?” Desmond asks.

“I will give my consent. Desmera shall wed Robb Stark, and our two houses shall be joined like they were supposed to be long ago. And once that is done, we shall ensure the corruption of the Hightowers is removed. We cannot allow them to continue purging the citadel of those willing to explore the deeper elements of this realm. We must make sure we have it all intact.” Paxter says.

His brother considers this and then asks. “And what do you propose we do? The Hightowers do not have a big enough fleet to fight us on the water, and the Shied Islands has never been one to willingly work with them. We could make use of that.”

Paxter nods. “That is exactly what I plan to do. I intend to make sure that the fleet is ready by the time the king responds back to my giving consent. And once that is done we sail for Oldtown, and this time, we shall get to the truth.”


	43. Twelve Strikes of Midnight

**9 th  Month of 298 A.C. King’s Landing**

**King Joffrey I Baratheon**

His realm was at war, his realm, the realm his father had given him, that his ancestors had forged it was at war, and it was bleeding. That angered him, his uncle Renly was a fool, a great fool for thinking that he could ever dare raise a challenge to him. Joffrey was going to take great pleasure in crushing his uncle’s skull in, but first he needed to find the hammer, and that was something that was most troubling for him. The hammer was not yet found, war was to be coming soon enough. His uncle was marching into the Reach, an army from his uncle was marching into the Riverlands, he would soon need to send the northmen out to fight, and he too would need to fight. And now the council required his attention.

“Tell me Lord Stark, where does my uncle sit now? Last we heard he was at the Grassy Vale continuing on with his treachery, does that remain the case?” Joffrey asks.

His goodfather nods. “He has moved on from the Grassy Vale Your Grace, now he sits somewhere within the Kingswood. It would seem he means to bait Your Grace into marching from the capital to try and find him.”

Joffrey laughs. “That seems like a far too clever plan for it to be my uncle’s. More than likely it is something that Lord Tarly had proposed to him. I have no doubt then that the time for war will come soon enough. Tell me are the Lords of the Stormlands still following him blindly?”

His goodfather shakes his head. “No Your Grace. It seems that some of the Stormlords are now growing more and more restless. They it seems are demanding action or nothing. Lord Cafferen is in particular demanding this.”

Joffrey considers this and then says. “Cafferen is quite a martial lord, I am surprised that he has not tried to make a move sooner. That he supported my fool of an uncle is surprising in itself. What could have led to such a lack of judgement?”

His goodfather is silent then, uncertain of how to respond, instead it is Waymar, master of laws who speaks. “It is possible that he might have thought Renly was a sure thing. After all, Renly Baratheon was not the most astute of men at the best of times. Cafferen might well have hoped to have used that against him. When he realised that the Tyrells had more claws into him, then he might have started reconsidering.”

Joffrey looks at his friend and ponders this, he turns to Lord Varys then and says. “How likely is it that Cafferen can be turned? He fought for the Targaryens during the rebellion, and then fought for my father. Can he be turned once more?”

The eunuch is silent a moment and then says. “I do believe he can Your Grace. He, Lord Grandison, Lord Fell and perhaps even a potential new Lord Caron could be turned to your side. After all, we all know that Caron died questioning his choice of liege lord.”

Joffrey considers this and says. “Ser Rolland Storm is the bastard brother of the former Lord Caron. And we know that the man has no other surviving cousins. A precedent could be set here, Storm could be legitimised and freed from the Kingsguard and named Lord of Nightsong.”

“Indeed he could Your Grace. Though I would urge caution on this matter.” his goodfather says. “Doing something like this sets an example, and more often than not it might lead to political pressure.”

Joffrey needs not ask to what his goodfather is referring to. He pauses for a moment and then says. “Very well, Pycelle, that is your task, find a suitable replacement for the Carons, and when you have bring them before me and I shall decide.”

The old maester bows his head. “Yes Your Grace.”

There is a moment’s silence and then Stark speaks. “There has also been word from the Iron Islands Your Grace.”

“And what word is that?” Joffrey asks.

“It seems Lord Balon has rescinded his oath of fealty and has declared himself King of the Iron Islands. It appears the man has yet to learn from the lessons of the past. Word has come that he means to attack the Westerlands.” Lord Stark says.

Joffrey curses then. “Why is it that the fools are the ones rebelling? We do not have the royal fleet yet, it is not completely rebuilt, but the Redwynes have not stated their preference for king have they?”

His goodfather shakes his head. “They have not Your Grace.”

Joffrey considers this then and then responds. “Very well, send word to the Arbor, tell them that should they aid in defending the Westerlands, I shall give them Highgarden and the Lord Paramountship of the Reach.”

There is another moment’s silence and then his goodfather speaks. “There is another matter that must be discussed Your Grace.” he pauses then and then says. “The matter of a replacement for Lord Baelish.”

Joffrey waves his hand at that. “There is no need for discussion on this matter. I have already made a decision. Lord Wyman Manderly shall be the new master of coin. It makes sense that the man who is in charge of a developing city within the kingdom take charge of the realms finances. Perhaps he might make a better job of it than his predecessor.”

There is a moment of shocked silence and then Lord Stark says. “I shall be sure to tell Lord Wyman. He will serve well and ably.” a moment’s pause and then Lord Stark speaks once more. “There has also been word from the Vale, Lady Lysa is asking for aid from the crown to deal with those who are attacking her and her son.”

Joffrey snorts. “I will give no aid to a woman like her. She can rot in the seven hells for all I care.”

* * *

 

**10 th Month of 298 A.C. Dragonstone**

**Lord Stannis Baratheon**

The journey had been successful, the king was here on Dragonstone, had arrived two days ago. He was every inch a king, and Stannis knew it, it irked him somewhat, and yet Lady Melisandre assured him that the glory that was his would come soon enough. The king had called a meeting of war, and so Stannis was here in the Painted Chamber where their shared ancestor had planned his conquest of Westeros. He looks at the king and sees that the history of the place is not lost on him, for some reason he feels his nerves grow because of this.

“Where my ancestor once plotted his conquest of Westeros, so too will I. I have come back to Dragonstone have so long. I do not forget that it was you Lord Stannis who forced me and my sister away from our home. But I have forgiven you for that crime. And now we might all work together to begin the campaign to bring my throne back to where it should be.” the king says.

Stannis takes that as his cue to begin speaking. “Thank you, Your Grace. And we are all honoured to have you back here as well. The realm is tearing itself in two, my nephew the usurper sits on the throne, but faces conflict from my brother Renly Baratheon, as well as from the Ironborn. Furthermore, Dorne is fighting itself. The opportunity is ripe for you to take back your throne.”

“I find it curious that your nephew and brother are fighting one another, and yet you did not think to claim the throne. Why is that?” the king asks.

Stannis looks at the king then and says. “Because it was not mine to claim. You are the rightful King Your Grace. I am merely a lord who is here to serve you.”

“And you shall be rewarded for that service when I sit the throne.” the king responds. “Now tell me, what is the power and position of these false kings?”

Stannis takes a moment to look at the letters before him and then he says. “Joffrey Baratheon has fighting for him the forces of the north, the west and the riverlands. Though the riverlands is divided amongst itself, and it shall be even more so when you land Your Grace. Renly has the Stormlands and the Reach, though both those regions are easy to divide if given the right material.”

The king considers this a moment and then says. “And what of the Vale? What of the kingdom of the old man who plotted my family’s downfall?”

Stannis considers this and then responds. “It would seem the Vale is fighting amongst itself, torn between trying to decide whether to keep the son of Jon Arryn on the falcon throne, or whether or not to put someone else on the throne.”

The king considers this and then says. “Whoever the boy on the throne is backing, we shall support the opposing candidate. I do not want some Baratheon traitor sitting the throne of the old falcon kings.”

Stannis nods and then says. “It might do good to send word ahead to Lady Lysa, she is easily frightened.”

“She is a woman of course she is.” The king says. He turns his attention to Lady Melisandre then and says. “And you my lady, I have a use for you.”

“Whatever you wish, I shall do. I am yours to command Your Grace.” Melisandre says, and Stannis feels a pang of jealousy flow through him.

“I want you to cast a spell that will show these pretenders the error of their ways. Or better yet, make them more divided than they already are. And furthermore, can you wake dragons from stone?” the king asks.

“I can most certainly try to wake the dragons Your Grace.” Melisandre responds.

“Good that is your task from now on.” the king responds, he then turns back to look at Stannis and says. “How reliable are the lords within the crownlands, will they fight for me or will they fight for the boy?”

Stannis is somewhat taken aback by the question, but still responds. “They will be divided Your Grace. I will not lie to you, there are divided loyalties there, but those who will most definitely fight for you are the lords of Crackclaw Point who abhor any who are not a dragon.”

The king smiles then. “Very good, very good. And how many men might they muster?”

Stannis finds himself at a loss to answer this question, but Lord Monford speaks. “Some six thousand men, Your Grace. They are good at carrying out raids and dispersing quickly.”

The king nods at this. “Good, send word to them, tell them to form their armies and to begin their raiding. I want the boy distracted.”

“Where do you plan on landing Your Grace?” Stannis asks. “Where you land will be most important, for the closer you are to King’s Landing, the more likely it is for you to gain followers.”

The king is silent a moment and then points at the map.  “We shall land at Duskendale, a force of men shall march with me from here, whilst the rest of the fleet continues onward for King’s Landing. Lay siege to the city and whilst we are marching, the boy shall be distracted.”

“It would be smarter to land in the Riverlands Your Grace. There you can build your following and make sure that the boy knows of your coming and is torn between who to fight first.” Stannis says.

“I am the king, Lord Stannis, and I believe landing at Duskendale whilst the rest of the fleet sails for King’s Landing is the best thing we can do.” the king responds.

Stannis bows his head. “Very well Your Grace. When do you wish to set sail?”

“In two weeks’ time. The sooner the better.” the king says, a smile on his face.

 


	44. War Dance

**11 th Month of 298 A.C. Storm Pass**

**Prince Quentyn Martell**

There had been fighting for some time, ever since he had spoken with Lord Yronwood, Quentyn had known that there would be fighting. He would not allow Arianne to ruin Dorne, to ruin their father’s plans. His sister was not smart enough to realise that they would gain more from remaining within the Seven Kingdoms fighting for the Targaryens than independent, and so war had broken out. Quentyn had married Lord Yronwood’s second daughter Gwyneth Yronwood, a marriage he had long wanted, and now that they were married to one another, he was happy with that, and more determined than ever to make sure he was successful in this fight, for there was no chance that he would be allowed to survive should Arianne emerge triumphant.

His sister had managed to marshal enough men to pose something of a challenge. Her friends in Gerold Dayne and Daemon Sand were commanding the army in her name, Quentyn had to admit he was surprised that the Sandsnakes or Uncle Oberyn were not leading the army, after all it was no secret that the Sandsnakes did not like him. As for Uncle Oberyn, well Quentyn did not care for his uncle, for he was the reason that Quentyn had grown up far from home. Still, that his uncle was not the one leading the host under Arianne’s name was surprising to say the least. Regardless, Quentyn felt that gave them the advantage somewhat, and that was something he was determined to make use of.

They had fought a battle near Skyreach, and had won that one, forcing Dayne to go scampering back toward High Hermitage. That had felt good, Quentyn had never liked Gerold Dayne, had thought him far too cocky and arrogant for his own good, and as such the more the man was brought down, the better it would be. The Daynes of Starfall were remaining neutral, their liege lord being in King’s Landing, and Quentyn was loath to attack Starfall, not only would it be difficult, he also knew it would bring far too many issues. And so he was leaving them alone for now, though should they move from their neutrality he would need to act.

And now they were to do battle once more, reports had come in of Daemon Sand commanding a host of spearmen in the storm pass, a place where once Quentyn remembers coming with his father, mother and sister before they were all separated. It was where the Dornish kings of old had defeated the storm kings as well as the Gardener kings, and Quentyn knew why Daemon Sand had chosen it. The bastard clearly felt that bringing him here would throw him off the game, that memories would make him feel weak and desperate. He was wrong, they only strengthened his resolve, made him determined to bring about a victory another victory, to show Arianne he was better than her.

His men are ready and they are marching, Quentyn can feel tiredness deep within his bones, but he is not willing to give up now, he is determined to win this war, and he cannot win if he allows himself to give into tiredness. He shakes his head slowly, allowing his hair to fall down across his face, he will need to cut it soon enough, until then it will just have to grow. Sighing, he spurs his horse on, a sword sheathed at his side, a lance in his hand, he knows that there will come a time when he will have to decide what to do with Arianne, and when that day comes he hopes that he will be in a strong enough position to make the right judgement.

His mother had sent him a letter some days ago, pleading with him not to go to war with Arianne, but it was too little too late. His mother, the woman who abandoned him and his siblings, asking for him to do something for her. The very thought of it was laughable, he owed her nothing, and had told her as much. She had cut all ties between them when she had fled to Norvos, no explanation, nothing, just a note saying she loved him and that she was going. Pah, he did not need his mother, had never needed her, and so he would ride on.

Shaking his head, Quentyn looks before him, the field is there, the storm pass, the memories are threatening to burst through, he cannot allow that to happen, for he knows that is what Sand wants. Clearing his mind of any memory associated with the place, he keeps himself steady and then barks out. “Men of Dorne, begin the charge.” He digs his spurs into his horse and leads the gallop down the slope toward the enemy which is fast approaching. His mind races, the thoughts before him are those of his childhood, anger grows within him, these memories are not going to do him any good, but he must continue onward with the battle, he will not give in.

As they come closer toward the enemy, Quentyn remembers something Lord Yronwood once told him long ago. “Never allow fear to guide you during battle, only anger and hate must dictate to you what must be done, otherwise you shall fall.” It seems those words stuck to him more than he thought, as the charge picks up speed, he wonders what his father would think of this, and he laughs, what does he care what his father makes of this or would make of this. His father is dead, and never cared for him anyway. His heart is racing, his blood flowing through his veins. As they come closer and closer to their enemy, he begins wondering if they are doing the right thing. He tries to remove the moment of doubt, but then it does not go away, he enters the battle filled with uncertainty.

* * *

 

**The Vale of Arryn**

**Lord Yohn Royce**

Yohn had not thought he would be donning armour once more, certainly not in the vale. He supposed, that he had naively hoped that the rebellion was the last time he would have to wear the bronze armour to war. He should have realised that Jon Arryn would come back to haunt him once more. The man’s ghost was a shade over them all, and it seemed that things were never going to be the same. Not for the first time, Yohn found himself wondering whether he had made the right decision all those years ago in supporting Jon against his brother, gods, and the number of times he had considered and reconsidered it all, it seemed only right then that these thoughts would plague him now. It was never easy being the one with an army that made a difference.

Harrold is a good man, a strong young man with the qualities they all thought Jon had had. Of course, that does make him somewhat weary of dealing with the young man. He is glib of tongue, a good warrior and smart, all the things Jon was, and yet Jon did not prove to be that which he had promised, and they have suffered for that for many years now. Yohn does not want to make the same mistake again, and yet he also does not want to oppose the king either. A difficult choice that, but one which might be the right one to make, twenty thousand men certainly seem to think so, the lords and lady who have rallied to the summons seem to think so, but Yohn cannot help the feeling of doubt that creeps in from time to time.

There had been a time once, long ago when Yohn had thought that perhaps the time had come to don the Bronze crown once more. He had suggested as much to his father, but his father had refused, stating that the Vale was too tied to the Arryns for such a thing to be accepted, he finds himself wondering if that is still true. When the suggestion was made, Jasper Arryn had some five sons alive and well, following the war there were only two left, one of whom was to die some years later. Yohn does not know why they supported Jon, he cannot remember the reasons behind it, but he remembers the fear he felt looking at the crown, the crown that was said to be the source of power behind the Arryns rule. Such fear, and he had known why his father had been reluctant to rebel. The crown was gone now, had been gone for a long time, and yet still he did not know.

Still, there was a war to be fought. He could not get lost within the whims of the past, they were to be kept in the past, that was the promise he had made Jocelyn all those years ago, when he was young and she was alive. Sighing, he shifts slightly in the saddle, and tries to keep the cold from biting. They are marching through the clouds and the snow, the Vale is beautiful this time of year, but also treacherous. He does not know who is leading the forces for Lysa Tully and that worries him, there have been various reports, Corbray, Melcolm, Hunter among others, gods alone knows who actually is, but as he stares across the fog he thinks he knows what is coming.

The falcon banner of House Arryn flies next to him halved with the red and white diamonds of House Hardying, Harry had been determined to have that as his banner, and he was equally determined to lead the vanguard, despite this being his first taste of battle. Yohn is nervous about that, he does not doubt that Harry is a capable jouster, but jousting and fighting are two completely different things. And Yohn remembers all too well what happened to the last Arryn who was like that, he died a painful death at the hands of his brother. Shaking his head, Yohn continues marching, his lance drawn ready for the fight. They continue marching and then a horn sounds, and Yohn watches as the van goes charging toward the foe through the fog.

He watches as Harry and his men disappear through the fog, and listens as their shouts and cries begin echoing through the Vale, Yohn says a prayer to the old gods, his sons by his side, trying determinedly to drive away the memories of the last time something like this happened, the mutilated bodies, and his friend dead. He swallows, curses Jon Arryn, and then begins preparing for the charge that is to come. A horn sounds somewhere in the distance, Yohn opens his eyes and barks. “Charge.” he moves his horse forward, and gallops through the fog is lance at the ready.

His arms are shaking slightly, though he does not know why, he has done this so many times before, but by the gods it never gets any easier. He continues onward, through the rush of chaos that comes before him, and then they hit the army. Banners, men, all are blurred before him, he takes a breath and then continues. His lance steadies itself, as he knew it would, and the fight continues, his lance goes through one man, and then another, and then another. Gods know what is going to happen after this, but now is not the time to think of that, instead he clears his throat, his mind and continues with the task at hand.

Pain that is the first emotion he feels through the battle, the pain of knowing his arms are hurt, his body is bleeding. He swallows and then continues through it, the pain wracks his body, he does not know how, but somehow he does. His lance drops and he draws his sword, an image flashes through his mind, but on he goes, through it all, he does not see it coming, but when it does, darkness comes and the crown is the only shining light.


	45. War Begins

**12 th Month of 298 A.C. Outside Duskendale**

**Lord Eddard Stark**

Viserys Targaryen had taken Duskendale, Lord Rykker had demonstrated where his loyalties lay by opening the gates to the Targaryen pretender, and as such King Joffrey had sent him off with the northern army to crush Rykker and Viserys before he got a chance to meet with the lords who might rally to his banner. That had been somewhat easy to do, there had been little resistance as they had marched, and his men were determined to begin the fighting, they had fought once to remove the Targaryens from the throne, this time they would not allow them to get back on it. Ned had been somewhat concerned that Renly might come marching back with them gone, but word had soon come of the fleet under Stannis Baratheon laying siege to King’s Landing, and that had surprised him. The business here needed to be concluded quickly, otherwise the king might well be overwhelmed.

Word had come from his scouts that there were some twelve thousand men with Viserys Targaryen inside the city, and though there had been some minor skirmishes before now, Ned had not anticipated the gates to open. It seemed that the boy was growing impatient and as Ned watched the gates open, he could sense the tension within his men for he felt it himself. He was not sure just what the Targaryen boy was planning, but whatever he was planning, it would not end well. Duskendale was damn near impenetrable, but outside the city, any army could fall foul of an opposing force. There was enough ground here, for the northern horses to hold steady against the tide of men who were more used to fighting on the sea, and in the shadows. Ned watched as the gates opened and men came pouring out, his hands on the reins of his horse, his heart hammering.

By his side, his eldest son and heir remained firm, Robb was strong, had always been strong, but recently Ned had seen a change in his eldest son, as if he was more determined than ever, to serve Joffrey. And whilst, Ned found that to be a commendable quality, he was somewhat worried that it might turn toward blind devotion. He hoped not, the king was a good man, but there was something about him that Ned found increasingly unnerving. He did not know what it was, but he found himself wondering if the king truly was Robert’s son in terms of personality and outlook. Robert would have led the army himself, regardless of his age, the king had chosen not to. Ned wondered at that, he wondered at many things as of late.

Increasingly, the king had been asking him if Robert had ever spoken to him about a hammer, and Ned was not sure what the king meant. Did he mean Robert’s own hammer, or another hammer, the hammer Robert had often dreamed of owning when they were boys? If it were that hammer, then Ned was not sure how he felt in regards to that, that hammer was said to be quite dangerous, and potentially deadly as well. He did not know why the king would want such a hammer, but then again, who was he to question the will of the king. He was merely there to lead armies and command that was what he had been taught to do from a young age, he was not going to change that now.

Ned looks at his son again, the older Robb gets, the more he thinks that perhaps his son is more like Brandon than he first thought. Not that, that is a bad thing, but Ned would not mind it if his own son was more like him, but then again, being like him was not always a good thing, hells, being Ned was not always a good thing. He gives a wry laugh then, and his son looks at him questioningly, and Ned merely shakes his head. He watches as the army advances out of Duskendale, marvelling once more at the arrogance of the Targaryen boy, he wonders if the boy’s commanders have not tried to advise him against this. Then again, considering it is a Targaryen they might well not have done. Very rarely did anyone countermand Aerys, Ned learned, and look how that turned out.

As the army of the Targaryen boy comes crawling ever closer, Ned decides that they have waited enough, barking a command, his men get themselves into position. He steels himself and then spurring his horse onward, he leads them down the crook and into the open fields around the city. The army of the boy is approaching ever closer, Ned thinks on this and then images of Brandon and father flash into his mind, and anger grows, these are the men fighting for the boy whose father killed his, he will not allow them to succeed. He will not disparage father or Brandon’s memory with that action, and so he steels himself, draws Ice, and holds it steady.  Before his hands would shake when he held Ice, now they remain steady, he knows that they have shed much blood in the past, and before his life is over, they will have shed much more blood. A sad fact, but one that is true all the same. He stares at the oncoming army, and then feels his heart begin to race, somewhere his son’s direwolf howls, and the battle becomes all the more real.

He thinks of Cat then, and he wonders when their child will be born, or if the child has already been born. Word has been few and far between from Winterfell, these past few months. He takes a moment and then promises himself that he will not die without seeing his wife and family once more. He is a soldier and he was taught how to die, but he is also a husband and a father, and he knows how to live, and to love. It is that thought that makes him hold steady when they clash with the enemy host, and the crows sing with delight.

* * *

 

**King’s Landing**

**King Joffrey I Baratheon**

He could see the ships from here, from the battlements of the Red Keep he could see where his uncle’s ships remained. For some reason his uncle had not ordered his men to dismount, and so they remained on their ships. Joffrey wondered at that, and began thinking that his uncle was more of a craven than he first thought. It would be interesting, truly interesting if his uncle was not as committed to this invasion as they all thought. His uncle, the law abiding man going against the law and turning traitor, no that did not make sense, it could not make sense. Joffrey did not believe it to be true, it had to be the influence of that witch that is who it might be.

“Lord Varys, what have you been able to gather from your spies about my uncle and this witch of his.” Joffrey asks.

The eunuch remains silent a moment, and Joffrey has his thoughts about the man’s loyalties brought into question once more. Eventually the man speaks. “I have learned from my spies upon the ships that there is some discontent amongst the lords with your uncle Your Grace. It seems, he is becoming more and more reliant on the witch, and that he is never seen without her. There is talk that she controls him.”

Joffrey considers this and keeping his eyes on the ships says. “This information, how reliable is it?”

“Your Grace?” the eunuch asks uncertainly.

“How reliable is it? If this witch is powerful, then surely she will know that there are spies amongst my uncle’s men. She might be deliberately laying false trails there for us to find and use.” Joffrey responds.

The eunuch sounds slightly offended then. “I know the spies I use Your Grace. And I know that they are very reliable.”

Joffrey snorts then. “Very well, and what more can you tell me about this witch. Where did she come from and why has she chosen to serve my uncle?”

The eunuch is silent a moment and then says. “She claims to come from Asshai, and yet my sources report that there is no record of her there within the city archives, and they are very good at recording those who are born and die within the city. There are some rumours that she might be from Pentos, Volantis or even Lys, but so far there is nothing confirmed. As to why she is serving your uncle, because she is there to make sure one Baratheon brother is part of the red god.”

“And why does she want a Baratheon serving part of the red god? I was not even aware there were multiple parts of the red god, I had thought there was just one.” Joffrey responds.

“That whole thing about there being just one red god, is a lie. A lie told to make it easier for people to convert when they wish. But in truth there are different sects, and as such Melisandre the witch comes from the most fervent cult, one led by a man called Benerro.” Varys responds. “As to why she wants a Baratheon, because if my sources are correct there is a prophecy surrounding your family that has been there since the Doom Your Grace.”

Joffrey tenses then, he has read about this prophecy, and he knows what it says, he has never believed it, but if Varys has heard of it as well, does that mean he knows about the hammer and the crown? Keeping his voice as calm as possible, Joffrey asks. “What prophecy?”

The eunuch titters then. “A prophecy of how the stag would defeat the dragon, to be removed by the dragon once more, and then replaced by a snake, only for the golden stag to rise high from the ashes, to claim and conquer all. It would appear that Melisandre believe your uncle is that golden stag.”

Determinedly keeping his face toward the sea and the ships, Joffrey asks. “And what makes you think she believes that?”

“She continues to speak to him as a lord, and potentially as a king. Though it would seem she also referred to the Targaryen boy as a king as well. Therefore, it seems she is playing a dangerous game. One that might not end if the Targaryen boy is killed.” the eunuch responds.

Joffrey keeps looking at the ships before him on the distance, and then he says. “You were the one who told King Aerys not to allow my grandsire into the city during the sack, and Pycelle was the one who told the king to allow him in. For once Aerys listened to Pycelle, and he suffered for that. Why do you think he did that?”

He can hear surprise in the eunuch’s voice when the man responds. “I am not sure Your Grace, but I believe in his final hours, Aerys became convinced that his old friend had come to rescue him from the dangers of the rebels. He had not yet realised that because of his own actions, his old friend had died long ago.”

Joffrey considers this, and then he says. “Send word to Stannis Baratheon, tell him that I shall challenge him to single combat. It is time we ended this nonsense once and for all.”

“Yes Your Grace.” the eunuch responds.

“Oh and one more thing Lord Varys,” Joffrey says smiling. “Tell your friend the cheesemonger that if he wants to plot he should show himself before me next time.”

The eunuch does not respond, but Joffrey knows he is stunned, he turns and sees the eunuch bow before departing, leaving him to his thoughts for a long moment. Joffrey remains looking at the sea before him, when an attendant comes and finds him. “Your Grace, sorry to disturb you, but the Grand Maester has asked you to come to the Queen’s chambers.”

Immediately Joffrey tenses then. “Is she alright?”

“She is giving birth now Your Grace.” the servant responds.


	46. Die Dead Enough

**1 st Month of 299 A.C. Garth’s Way**

**Lord Tywin Lannister**

He felt as if he was being eaten from the inside. His guts were giving up on him, the grey death had come for him. It had struck the army first, common soldiers dying from the disease that had destroyed the Blackfyres during their third rebellion that had prompted Bittersteel to take such hasty actions. The disease that had killed a king, it had come for him. His commanders were dying, hells even Kevan looked ill, but he, the mighty Tywin Lannister was the victim that had been taken last. He knew he was dying, he was angry at that, he did not wish to die, he knew he could get into court, could become hand, but now he would not, because he was ailing. He had a few things he had to sort out first, before he died, and so he looked at his brother and groaned once before speaking.

“I know I am dying brother, there is no point in denying it. But when I die, we cannot allow the army to disintegrate, Renly Baratheon is advancing closer on King’s Landing, the army must move into the Reach proper to cause chaos and confusion. I want you to command the army following my death.” Tywin says.

“I am ailing myself brother, I might not have the strength to lead the army soon.” Kevan responds.

Tywin looks at his brother, he hates that Kevan must see him like this, lying on the bed, sweat beading his face. “You must continue to survive brother. I cannot allow the army to fall into chaos, let alone into someone else’s hands.” Tywin responds.

“Ser Daven is alive, he is capable, far more capable than anyone else. He could be named commander.” Kevan says.

Tywin shakes his head. “No, that is something I cannot allow. Daven must return to the Rock. I know Cersei, she shall try and claim the Rock in her own right, and that will not end well. Daven must return to the Rock to ensure that the succession is secure, and that Cersei gets with child. You must remain in command.”

His brother looks at him then somewhat despondently. “And what of the campaign? You know the men will want to take time off following the deaths.”

Tywin looks at his brother grimly. He has never understood why Kevan could not simply make the men do what was expected of them, he has been far too convinced of the need to satisfy their issues. “Then you will make sure they continue the war. We cannot allow death to stop us. Renly Baratheon will not stop, nor will the king. They are fighting for the throne, and we both know they will not stop until one of them is dead. March into the Reach proper and make it bleed, force Renly to come running away from his plan.”

His brother looks at him somewhat sceptically. “Do you think then, that Renly will come running back? He will not ignore the warnings?”

Tywin laughs, his body aching from the effort. “No, I do not think so. Renly cares more for the Tyrells and their lands then he does for his own people. It is his one weakness, and it something that must be exploited.”

“Why is that? I have never understood his obsession with the Reach. He is from the Stormlands, why is he so close to these flowers?” his brother asks.

Tywin looks at Kevan then, and not for the first time he finds himself wondering if perhaps he should confess to a little secret he has kept hidden for the longest of times, his feelings for Aerys, but of course now would not be the time. He looks at his brother and then responds. “Because that is where he feels most at home. He never understood the Stormlords and they never understood him, but it did not matter because he was not Stannis. Now, however, it matters, and we can exploit that.”

His brother looks at him and asks. “What do you mean brother?”

Tywin laughs once more, something he has not done for so long. “What I mean is that, Renly is too concerned about the flowers, far too concerned, I do not think he realises that he must look toward the Stormlords for the true threat.”

His brother looks at him shocked then. “You think they will rebel against him?”

“Yes. They respected Robert, loved him even because he was a warrior, Renly has not fought a battle himself. He is far too cautious for his own good, and the Stormlords do not respect that. The king is a warrior, and he has won a victory at Duskendale, soon enough they will come to find themselves preferring the king. Renly is too confident, he does not realise the price he will pay.” Tywin responds.

“What of the hammer, do you think the king will look for that?” Kevan asks.

Tywin groans then, he wishes the hammer had not been mentioned, that damned thing is going to be the death of them all. “I do not know, but I would not be surprised if he does. There is power in the hammer. And the king needs power.”

“What of the crown?” his brother asks.

“That crown has not been seen for years, Aerys thought he had it with him, but that was never the crown. I do not know if the crown still exists, but if it does, we must find it quickly.” he replies, and then he sees her coming closer, Tywin looks at his brother and whispers. “Leave.”

Kevan looks at him and then looks behind him and sees the same thing, he nods, and rises and leaves. Tywin stares at the figure approaching and then whispers. “Have you come for me at last?”

“Yes, your time is over Tywin. It is time you left this world.” the figure responds.

“Do you know where the crown is?” he asks.

The figure gives a sad laugh then. “So much like your grandsire, I cannot tell you.”

Tywin looks at her and responds. “Of course not, the lady of death never does. What happened to you grandmother?” He does not get a response, only blackness.

* * *

 

**Tumbleton**

**King Renly I Baratheon**

His head hurt, gods did his head hurt. His nameday had been celebrated in elaborate fashion. And that was something he was not going to apologise for, it was only right for the king to celebrate in such a fashion. One less enemy had been dealt with, Viserys Targaryen was dead, and his army had been slaughtered, more enemies had arisen for his nephew though. Oh, it was good to be in power with the biggest army in the realm advancing toward King’s Landing. Of course Stannis still lay siege to King’s Landing, and no doubt might claim the crown if he felt so inclined, and yet  Renly did not truly care, not now, not anymore. It was good to be the king, and as he looked at the Tyrells he smiles. It is good, to be amongst friends.

“Come my friends of Highgarden, we are on the way to winning this war. With his actions regarding the Targaryen boy, he has made sure that the lords of the crownlands look down upon him. The girl is still at large, but that should not be too much of an issue, not with the Redwyne fleet at the ready for us. So do tell me why you all look so grim.” Renly responds.

There is a long silence at this, and then Mace Tyrell speaks. “There has been word from Oldtown Your Grace, it seems the Redwynes have turned their cloaks. There have been battles between the Redwyne fleet and the Hightower fleet. But not direct battles, engagements have been fought and won and lost. I am not sure why this has come about, but it has happened.”

Renly feels shock run through him, he had not been expecting this. “Lord Redwyne has rebelled? But why? I had thought the man was loyal to you, and that he knew what positions he would get if he remained loyal.”

Lord Mace looks at him and responds. “I do not know why he has done this. Paxter is usually a reasonable man, someone who knows what to do when the dice were rolled.”

Lady Olenna speaks then. “Of course you would not see it Mace, you never saw Paxter as an actual person. His sons are hostages in King’s Landing, and the man values his sons’ lives. Therefore he has declared for the boy on the throne. It is a simple move, he has committed his ships to ensure that his boys remain alive. Furthermore, the attack on Oldtown, well it is simple, he is going for those who might rally to your banners.”

“The Hightowers have not declared for King Renly though.” Loras says. “They have remained neutral, almost as if they are afraid of doing so. So he is attacking them unprovoked.”

“No he is not.” Olenna responds. “I don’t expect you to know much about this Loras, but Leyton Hightower insulted Paxter once long ago, over some trade deal or the other, and so I do believe that this is his revenge for that. Furthermore, that there has not been one single attack with the full fleet to me suggests that Paxter is testing the defences and will soon make his move.”

“Is there a way this can be stopped? Can Paxter be brought to side?” Renly asks.

“Of course he can, this is Paxter we are speaking of not Tywin bloody Lannister. Everyone knows what it is Paxter loves the most.” Mace responds.

“Can you get his sons out of King’s Landing with their heads on their shoulders?” Olenna asks.

Renly considers this a moment and then responds. “The most definite source I had for that died at the hands of the Starks, but I have other sources that could get them out. Whether or not they get out completely unharmed is something that I am not sure I could answer to.”

The Queen of Thorns tuts then. “That is not good enough. Paxter will not accept that. He will demand them unharmed or he will not support you at all.”

Renly feels frustration grow within him then. “Gods damnation. Why does the man have to do this now? We were on the right path towards the throne. Targaryen was dead, Stannis lays siege to King’s Landing by sea, we could have easily won the battle outside the city. And with communication with Lannister, we could have made things difficult for them in the Westerlands.”

“Can you not remain here, to ensure things do not worsen?” Olenna asks.

“No.” Renly responds. “I cannot remain here, the men are getting restless, and if I remain here, I fear the Stormlords might well desert. They are already impatient with the lack of fighting. They must have battle and soon, otherwise there will be problems. As much as I would like to remain here to ensure that Redwyne is dealt with I cannot willingly revert back to something that might endanger the rest of the war.”

“What of the Lannisters? They are closing in on the land. Are they not a significant threat?” Olenna asks.

Renly looks at the woman and responds. “Tywin Lannister is ailing, his brother is ailing. The Lannister army, is going to be breaking apart soon enough. The moment Tywin Lannister and his brother die, is when that army shall fall apart.”

“How sure are you of this?” Lady Olenna asks.

Renly looks at his goodfather and then responds. “Fairly certain. They do not have any other capable leaders within their ranks. I am not sure what more they could do once those two commanders are done.”

“That is not good enough, they are still on the border of the kingdom. We must make sure they are gone from the border for good before moving on. Otherwise there will be an army on our backs even as we march for King’s Landing.” Lady Olenna responds.

“I am sure it will be fine.” Renly says. “After all, the lions are not known for keeping themselves together when the main lion is dead.”


	47. Shock Me

**1 st Month of 299 A.C. King’s Landing**

**King Joffrey I Baratheon**

He was a father that thought was something that ran through his mind almost every day. Sansa, his love had given birth to a beautiful boy, who they had named Robert in honour of his father. There was something about being a father that he could not truly describe, but it had made him even more determined to find the objects that needed to be found and to defeat every threat to his and his son’s safety that there might be. That meant destroying his uncles and the fools who were following him. His uncle Stannis had decided to answer his challenge, and had come with his armour, the red whore was not with him, nor was anyone else, and yet Joffrey did not feel fear looking at his uncle. He felt only contempt. His uncle looked small in his armour, whereas Joffrey felt big, very big, the hammer in his hand a reassuring weight.

He looks at his uncle and says. “You are ready to die uncle?”

His uncle merely looks at him and then looks at the throne. “You do not deserve that throne boy. The King died in Duskendale you are merely a husk of a man.”

There is some grumbling at this amongst the court, Joffrey merely laughs. “I have won this war, your king is dead and once this is done, your whore and daughter will be mine as well. Pray tell me what did you hope to achieve by siding with a dragon?”

“A chance to right the wrong that was done during the rebellion. The king was the right one to sit the throne.” his uncle responds.

“What wrong was that?” Joffrey asks moving toward his uncle now, the hammer raised high.

“The wrong in removing them from the throne. Robert was not the better king, he was worse, for he allowed the Lannisters to gain power, and Jon Arryn did nothing but encourage that.” Stannis responds moving toward him as well.

“You did not try to stop their rise either.” Joffrey points out. “Is that not quite the wrong thing to say then, when you, yourself did nothing to stop them from moving forward?”

“I tried, Robert did not listen to me.” Stannis responds.

Joffrey swings his hammer and hits his uncle on the shoulder, his uncle slumps down then. “And when Jon Arryn died you fled? What kind of man are you?” He hits his uncle again, forcing the man to move backward.

“I knew your mother would try to have me killed. So I fled.” Stannis responds, moving forward now and swinging.

Joffrey raises his hammer and blocks the swing, and grunts at the effort. “Some might think you fled because you were afraid something might come out. Is that why you fled?” Joffrey pushes his uncle back and then attacks him with a simple swing of his hammer.

His uncle moves back with the force of the blow, and then moves backward drawing Joffrey closer. “I did what I thought needed to be done.” His uncle swings his sword, Joffrey moves back, the blade just missing him, and then he swings in retaliation. His uncle moves backward.

“And why were you with Jon Arryn?” Joffrey asks, his hammer connecting with the man’s arm once more.

His uncle looks beaten and bruised, but he refuses to submit. He instead, swings his own sword and comes forward. “I did what needed to be done. I went to Jon Arryn about something. He did not listen.”

Joffrey winces slightly as the sword connects with his armour, but then he raises his hammer and smashes the sword away and comes after his uncle now, swinging the hammer something fierce, roaring. “So did you have him killed?”

“I did what needed to be done.” his uncle responds through gritted teeth.

Joffrey stops talking now, and continues his barrage, swinging his hammer, breaking through his uncle’s defences, he knocks the sword right from his uncle’s grasp and then hits him once in the chest, another time in the face and then on his arms. Deciding that he wants to have more of a personal feel to bringing his uncle’s death, he drops the hammer, and then jumps on his uncle. His knee hits his uncle in the face, and then as his uncle falls, he throws a punch to his uncle’s cheek, and then a punch to his face which is exposed. He keeps hitting his uncle again and again until his uncle is bleeding. Joffrey moves back, and picks up his hammer, and begins swinging.

One swing and his uncle falls down, another swing and his uncle’s chest is being caved in, a third swing and his uncle is bleeding death, all over the ground. Joffrey is not done, he places his foot atop his uncle’s chest and says. “Did you kill Jon Arryn?”

His uncle is gasping for breath. “I did what needed to be done.”

Joffrey exerts more pressure on his uncle then, pressing down something fierce. “Did you kill Jon Arryn?” he asks once more.

His uncle is gasping something fierce now. “I did what needed to be done.”

Joffrey moves his foot from the man’s chest and then swings his hammer onto his uncle’s chest. He moves his hammer again. “Did you kill Jon Arryn?”

His uncle is coughing now, something within him broken. “I did what needed to be done.”

Joffrey feels anger shoot through him, and he raises his hammer once more, this time he brings it down on his uncle’s hands, breaking them. He breaks his uncle’s arms with the hammer, and then he looks at his uncle and asks. “Did you kill Jon Arryn?”

His uncle stares at him, his helm broke, his eyes hazy, his voice slurred. “Aye, I did.”

Joffrey merely looks at his uncle and then he puts his foot down on the man’s throat, and snarls. “Then join him in the seven hells.” he twists and his uncle dies choking on blood.

* * *

 

**Oldtown**

**Lord Paxter Redwyne**

Paxter looks at the city from atop the tower. For years he has dreamed of this, revenge for the insult done to his family. Baelor Hightower and his brother Garth are dead. Leyton Hightower remains in his tower, doing gods alone knows what. Oldtown is in flames, and the citadel, well the citadel opened their gates to Paxter and his men after he threatened to burn them down from the outside. He never meant to go through with that threat though, what he seeks is too important. It could well be here within this tower, and he does not wish to miss finding it. The king would pay a hefty sum for that thing, if it is indeed there. He looks at his nephew. “It is here?” he asks.

Leo nods. “I think so my lord. It was here last time I looked.”

“And when was the last time you looked? I know what you are like Leo, I expect an honest answer otherwise I shall have you killed.” Paxter responds.

Leo looks at him somewhat nervously. “I did not think you would mean that my lord. Surely we count for something?”

Paxter snorts. “Keep talking like that and you will join your friends in the bottom of the whispering sound. Now where is this thing?”

He can see the nerves in his nephew, and eventually when they come before the dark and closed section and his nephew places the key into the door, and opens it, Paxter merely nods, and then drawing his dagger slits his nephew’s throat. As his nephew falls to death, Paxter merely looks at him before walking over his body and into the room. He looks around, and sees the dim glow of the light, walks toward where he believes the thing should be. He sees books and all kinds of things on the shelves, but none of them are the things he wants. He sighs, and then finding something, picks it up and reads.

_Darkness comes for the one who desires that which is not theirs to claim. Lies, and lions, they are the surest way to bring death upon us all. For when the crow flies, and the maiden sings, that is when Durran and Elenei shall know the plight they have placed upon the world. To invoke the wrath of the gods at such an inopportune hour, we fear will see us all doomed to that mortal coil of death. Fear names that which we do not wish to acknowledge as our own, and the things of the past are coming before us now. The hour comes, the hammer and the sickle are soon to be gone._

Paxter stops reading there, putting the piece of paper down he looks around, his thoughts whirring. What could that mean? He does not know, is not sure that he wants to know. Shaking his head he continues looking around, determined to find the thing that he knows the king will pay a fine sum for. He finds something else, this one engraved with wolves and vines and reads it.

_Oh what is love, that which we claim as our own? Or that which we are told to claim as our own? I write a broken thing, alone and in fear. Three white knights did come to guard me, and in a tower I did lie. Alone and afraid, my prince did not come, he never came. I was left alone, the guilt to haunt me through this world. I have seen my death, and I know now that I cannot trust the dragon, nor the prince. A lie that might come to me._

He puts the thing down wondering what in the name of the seven hells he has read. Muttering about that to himself, he continues looking through the shelves, finding all kinds of things that would sell for a hefty sum, and yet he knows that that is not the thing he needs. When he sees something glowing, he moves toward it, and finds himself holding a book, flicking through the pages, he is not sure what it is he is reading, and then he finds something that enthrals him.

“Find the key, find the hammer, find the sword, and let the world know where the power resides. The crown is the one which Garth made with his hands, and brought to light. It is that which will make the dynasty strong again. We are alone in this my son. For we are all the ones who must make things the way in which we want.” Paxter reads aloud. “Temptation is that which makes us do that which we would never normally do. And yet, now, now we must make sure all is well with the world.”

“Such wise words, wouldn’t you say?” a voice asks, taking him from his reading.

Paxter turns to look at the figure, and finds himself looking at a man who seems dressed in flames. “Who are you?” he asks closing the book suddenly.

“No need to hide the book my lord. I have not come for that, but for something else. As to who I am, well I go by many names. You might know me as Benerro.” the man says.

“And why are you here?” Paxter asks, his mind working furiously.

“To get something that was stolen from me a long time ago.” the man responds.

“What thing?” Paxter asks.

“You know just what I am speaking of, for you are seeking it as well. Do not try to lie to me lord Redwyne. I can see it writ all over your face that you are looking for this thing of mine. So, tell me then what is it that you wish to do now.” the man responds.

“I do not know what you mean.” He responds.

“Do not lie to me.” the man says. He moves his hands, and then suddenly there is pain in Paxter’s chest and his throat. “Where is it? Where is the crown?”

“I…I…I do not know.” He gasps.

The man sighs. “A pity, I did not wish to kill you.” and then fire emerges from somewhere and Paxter screams.

 


	48. Desperation

****

**2 nd Month of 299 A.C. Somewhere within the Reach**

**Ser Kevan Lannister**

His brother was dead, and Kevan felt lost. For as long as he could remember, Tywin had been there, the guiding force within his life, helping him to make choices and there to advise him. Now that his brother was gone, Kevan felt adrift, he was not sure where to go and what to do. He knew the king wanted him to continue the campaign in the Reach, but the grey sickness that had taken Tywin was now plaguing the rest of the army. Kevan was not sure if they could continue fighting and marching, Renly Baratheon was keeping most of his men away from the Reach proper, and there was much chaos within action in the camp itself. All in all, as Kevan looks around at the commanders within the army he is surprised none of them have revolted yet.

“King’s Landing has sent word that we are to continue pursuing any forces from Renly Baratheon’s army that might look to fight or escape. We are to continue tempting Renly Baratheon into doing something rash. That is what the king has asked.” Kevan says.

“How are we going to continue with this?” Lord Marbrand asks. “We are falling by the wayside with the grey plague coming and decimating our army. The Riverlords have returned to their own lands determined to hold off should Renly Baratheon send any more men.”

Kevan sighs. “The king has asked us to do something, and unless there is a different course of action that you can think of taking, then we are to do it. Besides Renly Baratheon is a man who will come scampering back should we make for Highgarden.”

“And do we have the strength to go through that? We do not even know where within the Reach we are my lord. We have many things that need to be done.” Lord Banefort says.

Kevan sighs. “And do you have an alternate solution my lord? We are pursuing an army that has a king who is needing to keep two warring factions onside. We have a chance here.”

“Do you know that for sure my lord? Or are you merely waiting?” Lord Banefort responds.

Kevan feels something akin to anger grow within him, followed by a jolt of pain, the grey plague has struck him as well, and he is not sure how long he can continue leading the army for. “What would I be waiting for my lord?” he asks fighting to keep his voice calm.

“Aid, from the west. With lord Tywin’s death, his daughter is now Lady of the Rock, what would it cost if there was more aid to come from the Rock. His daughter is the king’s mother, it would make sense if you were waiting for aid to come from the Rock.” Banefort responds.

Kevan sighs, he can feel the pain of the plague eating inside of him. “That would be a reasonable belief, if there was a chance of aid coming from the Rock. I am not sure that Lady Cersei will consider such a thing. After all the Ironborn are growing more bold as the moons progress gods above know what might come from Balon Greyjoy’s mad mind.”

At this Lord Westerling speaks. “Then surely we should return to the Westerlands? After all, if the Ironborn are a threat then we must return to our lands to protect them from such a threat.”

Lord Westerling lost his father and his sister in Quellon Greyjoy’s raiding when Tytos Lannister sat the lion throne. Kevan knows this, knows why the man is pressing for this to happen, and yet he finds himself reluctant to agree. “We have been given orders by the king, to go against his orders is tantamount to treason.”

“And do you think the king will mind if we are returning to protect the place where his mother lives?” Lord Westerling. “I do not know the king, but surely he would want his mother safe.”

Kevan hesitates then, he knows that normally the man would speak sense, but there is something inside him that remembers how the king responded to Cersei’s hysterics in Winterfell, remembers Tywin’s own words of foreboding there, and he hesitates. “The king has given us orders. We must obey them.”

“Or what? What will the king do? The Tyrells and the Stormlords are many miles away. We shall all die before we come into contact with them. What are we to do then? Sit and wait and die?” Lord Banefort asks.

“If that is what the king commands we do. Then we shall do it.” Kevan responds.

“I disagree. Why should we sit here, waiting for a foe to come that will never come? We should be fighting, either we go to King’s Landing and fight, or we return to the Westerlands and fight there.” Lord Westerling says. “Sitting here dying is not for me.”

There are some murmurs in agreement with Westerling and Kevan feels as though he is being surrounded, surrounded and attacked, just like when he was a child. Slowly, painfully he says. “Very well, let us march, we shall march tomorrow.” he rises then.

“Where will we go my lord?” Lord Banefort asks. “Further into the reach or back home to the west?”

“We shall decide tonight, now be gone all of you. We have sat here and discussed this endlessly” Kevan walks out of the tent, and hurries back to his own tent. Struggling with the burden of death that is lurking over him, he moves to private lavatory, and sits down. He groans as the pain is pushed from his bowels and into the hole below. He knows that there will be blood there, and then another push. He is in so much pain, so much pain, he does not see the knife until it is too late. He dies on the lavatory, his bowels bleeding out onto the ground. The death meant for his brother.

* * *

 

**The Water Gardens**

**Prince Oberyn Martell**

War was ravaging Dorne, the thing he knew his brother had feared. It had come to Dorne and now brother fought sister, and the people bled and died. Oberyn remained in the Water Gardens doing as he had promised Doran he would do, he was protecting Trystane from both his brother and sister. Neither side had shown why they deserved to rule Dorne, they were only content to use that excuse to settle their own petty grudges and rivalries. It sickened Oberyn, and it made him determined to put a stop to it, and therefore he needed to get his nephew out of the Water Gardens and to somewhere safe. Of course he knew that Viserys was dead, the boy had never meant to live, there was someone else lurking in the shadows, but Oberyn did not trust the spider.

“I do not understand why you are deciding to stay here, and I have to leave?” his nephew says not for the first time. “I am a Prince of Dorne, and surely I should be here to rally my people?”

Oberyn sighs, there are times when Trystane reminds him of Doran, and himself, and then there are times when with his straight and simple words, he reminds him of Elia. “Because you are a valuable prisoner for someone to take. We cannot allow that, I will not allow that.”

“But then surely they are winning. If I am seen fleeing from Dorne, surely that means Arianne and Quentyn have won? They might be fighting each other, but I am a threat to them. If I flee then they have one less person to worry about.” Trystane says.

“Yes, but, they are also less likely to come here looking for you, if you are not here.” Oberyn says.

His nephew looks betrayed then, but still walks with Oberyn toward the docks. “But why am I being sent toward King’s Landing? Surely that will do more to hurt me than to benefit me here?”

Oberyn sighs, wishing not for the first time that his nephew was not so smart. “We must wait and see what happens between your brother and sister before deciding. Regardless, we shall have what we want from the Baratheon king.”

His nephew looks at him doubtfully but walks onto the ship all the same. Oberyn then looks at Mellario, his goodsister looks tired, and old, as if she has aged more now than she did in her time apart from Doran. “Stay safe Oberyn. Do not do anything dangerous or stupid. We shall need you.”

Oberyn kisses his goodsister’s cheek and replies. “I will try. I promise I shall try to keep the peace between Arianne and Quentyn.”

His goodsister leans up then and whispers in his ear. “Make them see the error of their ways, or make it so that Trystane can assume power without having to kill his own kin. I do not want him to suffer more than he has.”

She stands back down on her feet and turns and walks onto the ship. Oberyn looks at the ship as it passes from the docks into the sea before them. He feels something inside him, he knows he is doing something dangerous and he is not sure what will happen in the future, but he hopes that things will improve. Sighing he walks back toward the Water Gardens, where Ellaria joins him. “How did it go?” she asks.

Oberyn takes her hand into his own and sighs. “I do not know. I think they shall be safe, but the thought of allowing Trystane to go to that snake’s den is something that does not sit well with me. Tywin Lannister might be dead, but the boy on the throne is still half Lannister and he is Robert Baratheon’s son. I cannot forget that.”

“Then do not forget that. But use it to your advantage. Dorne is fighting itself, this boy king, he needs all seven kingdoms united does he not?” Ellaria asks. Oberyn nods and Ellaria goes on. “Then give him reason to want to help Trystane not use him. Make him see how valuable you and Trystane are to him, and he will never dare bring up anything, and you can have the revenge you want.”

Oberyn looks at Ellaria then and smiles. “Remind me again, why are you not called the red viper?”

Ellaria laughs then. “Because I do not wish for the infamy that comes with such a name.”

Oberyn sighs then. “It brings much and more to the person who wields it. That is what my father said to me. And my uncle before that. The northerners think it is something that I created, but I inherited it.”

“And, has it brought you any joy?” Ellaria asks, as they walk back into the water gardens.

Oberyn snorts. “I do not think joy is the issue at hand here. It is a task, something I have to do, that I have not found. And until I do, I think there might be something going wrong with Dorne.”

“And what is this thing you must find?” Ellaria asks softly.

She had asked him this same question many years ago, when he had raged following the rebellion and news of Elia’s death. He had not told her then, but now he looks at her and sighs. “Seven objects were made, three were destroyed, and three were lost, the crown is needed, it must be found. I had thought it might be in Dorne, but it is not.”

“Why would it be in Dorne?” Ellaria asks.

Oberyn sighs, looks at Ellaria, his love, his one true partner in life and responds softly. “Because I heard a rumour that Rhaegar had it here, that that was why he came to Dorne and nowhere else. He wanted the crown, or he had the crown and he meant to give it to his whore. But it was never found, and I do not know where it is.”


	49. Summation of Absolutism

**3 rd Month of 299 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Ser Waymar Royce**

The war was going okay, Stannis Baratheon, the king’s uncle and Viserys Targaryen the pretender were both dead. Stannis’ daughter Shireen and Viserys sister Daenerys had been brought to King’s Landing. The king was debating what to do with the girls, one he knew had become his lover, the other had become a slave, or tantamount to one. Which one was which, Waymar did not know, but considering how young Shireen was, Waymar did not doubt Daenerys had become his lover and slave. There was some jealousy within him at that thought, the king remained aloof from his desires, and as such had rarely spoken to him outside council meetings until now. The summons had been sudden and unexpected, but he had delighted in it all the same

The king is sat on a chair, a rather plush looking chair, Jon Stark, a member of the Kingsguard standing behind him, alongside his uncle Ser Jaime. The king gestures for him to sit down and he does so, and then the king speaks. “You are well Ser Waymar?”

Waymar nods. “I am Your Grace. Thank you.”

“Your position as master of laws is suiting you. You have a glow to you that has not been there for some time. Tell me, what you have learnt.” the king says.

Waymar fights a blush at that, takes a sip of wine and then says. “The city watch has slowly come back into order. Since Baelish’ death they have removed themselves from Janos Slynt’s control and installed a new commander. But of course this you already knew. They have also improved on their duties. Corruption within the watch has fallen and those found guilty of crimes are being given the correct punishment.”

“Good, very good. Tell us, what do you make of Lord Wyman, the new master of coin?” the king asks.

Waymar hesitates for a moment, he knows that the king respects Lord Stark, but personally he had been surprised by the choice of another Northman on the council. Eventually deciding to be honest he says. “I think he is a good choice Your Grace. And yet, I admit to being somewhat surprised. I had thought you might go for Ser Kevan as master of coin.”

The king smiles then. “Even Lord Stark had said something similar. And I admit, there was a time when I had thought that my uncle might make a good master of coin, but my uncle has always been a tool for my grandfather, or rather he was. And so I decided against it. Wyman Manderly is a good man, some would argue a smart man, he knows his duty.” the king pauses and then continues. “But that is not the only reason I asked you here Ser Waymar. I would know what you have managed to find out about my uncle Renly and his progress.”

The way the king looks at him, notifies Waymar that he does not mean mundane matters, more the issue of the items. Taking a breath he looks at the king, and then their company and then looks at the king again, when the king gives a slight nod, he sighs and then speaks. “As you know Sire, Robb Stark has the sword that has as such meant that he now controls some element of power thus strengthening your own grasp of power. As for Renly Baratheon, from what I have been able to find he has not been able to find the other two elements.”

“But you are certain my uncle knows about them?” the king asks.

Waymar nods. “Yes, I am almost positive. Everything I have done in looking into him, suggests that on some level he is aware of their existence and is searching for them most actively.”

The king looks thoughtful then. “If he does not know where they are, could that mean we were misled? Could it mean that the hammer is not where we think it is, and that the scrolls lie? Redwyne died for nothing?”

Waymar knows the king is not really doubtful, can see it in the way he holds himself, still he says. “I do not think so. Everything I have looked into suggests that the hammer is where it was said to be last. Ser Kevan and Lord Tywin did not die in vain.”

The king considers this. “Indeed they did not. Yet, why is my uncle not going off looking for it, everything has been done to force him to go looking for it, and he has not moved from his position toward the capital. Why?”

Waymar struggles to think of an answer, until he thinks on it. “Because he has sent someone to find it, but he does not know what he is looking for.”

“And what makes you think that?” The king asks.

“Did he ever show any inclination when he was in King’s Landing that he knew of the elements and what they represented?” Waymar asks.

“Now that I think on it, he did not seem to display any overt signs that he knew of them. He only hinted at knowing something more than what he showed. It is truly possible he does not know what he is looking, for only that he is looking for something. But then who could have told him?” the king ponders.

“Someone who might have reason to bring Renly Baratheon onto his side. Someone who was looking into things he perhaps should not have been?” Waymar suggests.

“You think my uncle Stannis told Renly about the objects?” the king asks incredulously. And then he thinks on it. “Actually that makes complete sense. He would need Renly to find them for him, Stannis never was any good at finding things out for himself. And so my uncle continues to search for them.”  Another pause and then the king says. “Send word to Lord Banefort, tell him it is time to release the hounds.”

Waymar nods, feeling a shiver run through him.

* * *

 

**Lady Cersei Lannister**

She had married her cousin some moons ago, and her children had not attended the wedding. That had stung, her eldest son had not spoken her, and not even looked at her in the moons since she had left and then come to court. It was as if he did not know her, and that stung her the most. Her other children were too young to know her, and so she ignored them, but Joffrey, sweet golden Joffrey ignored her. Her husband, she hated that word, tried to comfort her, and truth be told he was nice, but he was not Jaime, and even Jaime was ignoring her. Well enough of that, Cersei looked at her son, and then at the Kingsguard behind him and felt anger grow. How dare they ignore her, they would not ignore her anymore.

“So, you are well my king?” Cersei asks, breaking the rules to speak to her son.

“Yes, and you? You are enjoying being lady of the Rock?” her son responds coolly.

“Very much so, I am enjoying it as much as I can enjoy anything nowadays. Tell me, how is the war going?” Cersei asks.

Her son smiles then. “Nice try Lady Lannister, but that is not of your business. Now you shall tell me, how things are progressing within the Westerlands. Is Lord Daven going to be joining us here?”

Cersei feels as though she has been slapped. She looks at her son, and sees her former husband in him more so than ever before. “He is busy holding the west against the Ironborn Your Grace. They have been prowling the waters, and as such have refused to answer to any of our queries.”

The king looks intrigued at this. “Has there been any conflict?” he asks.

Cersei wonders at her son’s sudden interest and then responds. “There has been no fighting between the two forces as of yet no Your Grace, but there seems to have been something akin to arguments on the coast. I would like to know why the army of the west is remaining in the Reach. My father and Ser Kevan are both dead and Lord Renly does not seem to be moving so why keep the army in place?”

Her son shifts slightly then, and her brother standing behind the king moves forward an inch. She notes these reactions with interest. Her son eventually replies. “Because Renly Baratheon is a fool who will be breaking his army the moment Highgarden is threatened.”

Cersei looks at her son and then says. “Yet there has been no movement toward Highgarden of the Westerlands army. Where are they actually going Your Grace? Is there something you are looking for?”

Her son stiffens then, and Jaime moves forward. “Mind your tongue my lady that is the king you are speaking to.”

Cersei looks at her brother then, and says coldly. “I am aware of that, and as Lady of the Rock I have a right to know where my soldiers are being used.” she looks at her son once more and then asks. “Why are they still in the Reach?”

The king looks unsure of whether he should respond or not. Eventually he says. “They are there because I am ordering them to remain there. Renly Baratheon has a weakness, and I mean to use it.”

Cersei looks at her son and asks softly. “And you did not think to ask for my help on this? Your Grace, I know these lords, I can tell you how to use them effectively.”

Her son looks at her pained, not knowing how to respond. “I…I am the king they shall obey me or face the consequences.”

Cersei looks at her son, and then at the men around them. She looks at her son again and asks him. “Are you sure you know what you are doing Joffrey? Sweetling, it is not a bad thing to be unsure.” she knows she is pleading with him.

Her son looks outraged. “What do you want?” he snarls.

Cersei feels her own anger flare and then die. She cannot remain angry at her son, she just cannot do it. “I want to apologise Your Grace. I was not in the right when it came to the Queen. I was mad with anger at myself and I said things I did not mean. I only want you to be happy. Can you find it in your heart to forgive me?” she asks.

Her son looks at her suspiciously. “What do you want in return?”

Cersei sighs then. “I want only to be in your good graces once more my king. I am your mother, I can help you. Please do not keep me out of things.” She takes her son’s hand, and sees it as a good thing when he does not pull his hand out of hers.

Her son looks uncertain then. “You will apologise to Sansa as well. I will not have you remain here unless you are willing to apologise to her. I will not have you hurt her any more than you have done so already.”

Cersei bites down on the retort on the tip of her tongue and says softly and demurely. “I will apologise to her Grace. I only want us to be a happy family again my king. That is all I want.”

“And you will do so of your own free will.” her son demands.

“I will do so of my own free will Your Grace.” she responds.

“Good.” her son responds.

Cersei can feel things moving against, her and therefore she gestures for her servants to come forth now, they hand her the object, and she removes the cloth covering it and holds it before her son. “Your Grace, I have found the crown of King Lann Lannister. The King of Kings, the crown of kings. I thought you might like it.” Her son looks at the crown with a deep sense of hunger then and when he takes it, Cersei knows she has done something right.


	50. Burning of Rome

**3 rd Month of 299 A.C. King’s Landing**

**King Joffrey I Baratheon**

He looks at the crown, not knowing what to think. A rush of emotions filling him. The crown, this has to be the crown, it has to be, it has the markings on it. His mother had not known what it was, thank the gods, but it had been at the Rock. By the gods he should have known it would be there. He looks at the crown now, cradling it in his hands, and he feels power running through it, and the images of the past, so many images, so many things running through him. It is so powerful, he is so powerful now, he feels it and he smiles then, he smiles, and looks up at his wife, his beautiful wife and says. “We have the key to winning the war right here my love.”

Sansa looks at him curiously. She looks even more beautiful to him now, since giving birth to their son. “What makes you say that my king? How could a crown help in a victory over a foe such as Renly Baratheon?”

Joffrey looks at his wife and smiles, grateful for having such an interesting wife. “You have heard the tale of the First King and how he united the first men have you not my love?”

“I have.” his wife responds. “The first men were separate warring tribes, unable to unite to fight the foes coming toward them, until the first king came. He forged a crown using the blood of the woman he loved, and made it into the crown that would make all the tribes loyal to him. And him alone.”

“And when they sailed from Essos, they fought with the children and won and lost wars and battles. Eventually the pact was signed, but it was the crown that allowed for the pact to be signed. For the king controlled his people and the children.” Joffrey says.

His wife looks at him and says. “I’ve never understood that part of the story. How did he manage to control the children as well? I thought they were magical?”

“They were,” Joffrey responds, he pauses and then says. “They are. But the crown was more powerful than their combined magic. Oh, they had their own sorcerers try to conduct something as powerful, but they could not defeat the first king, for they did not know what had made the crown as powerful as it was. Love, love and desire, and loyalty. All of those things had made the crown powerful. The children were made into something less than what they had been, and then the long night came.”

His wife looks at him curiously then. “What does the long night have to do with this my love?”

Joffrey looks at his wife and asks. “Do you know of the tale of the last hero?”

“Yes, he fought the others and took them by the storm and broke them. Uniting the children and the first men against them.” Sansa replies dutifully.

“The crown was there then as well. The First king had died by then he was old, very old when the pact was signed, but afterwards the first men warred amongst themselves and the children, until the descendant of the first king found his crown once more and wore it. The power behind the crown and the person within it, made them fight together.” Joffrey replies.

His wife looks at him and asks. “Are you suggesting what I think you are suggesting my king?”

“What is it you think I am suggesting?” Joffrey asks curiously, still holding the crown.

His wife looks at the crown in his hands. “That, that crown you hold there, is the crown of legend. It is the first crown ever forged, that this is the way you will make Renly Baratheon lose the war?”

Joffrey smiles at his wife and says. “You would be right, as always my love.”

His wife looks at him and asks. “How do you plan on doing that though? Does it not require some sort of sacrifice to make it work properly?”

“Yes, a sacrifice is needed, and the first king used the woman he loved. But, he did not love her.” Joffrey replies.

“I do not understand.” his wife responds.

“He loved her in a bodily way, but his heart belonged to another. Just as my heart belongs to you, and the Targaryen girl is our lover. We shall use her and end this farce once and for all.” he says firmly.

“You mean to sacrifice her?” Sansa asks surprised.

“Yes, she has served her purpose, the time has come for her to now be used for the reason she was created.” Joffrey replies his voice hard and firm.

His wife comes to stand before him then her hands on his face. He loves her, this woman, truly he does. “Will I get one more chance to play with her at least?” she asks innocently.

Joffrey laughs. “Of course my love. Go and play with her now if you wish.”

His wife kisses him then and walks off toward where the girl is. Joffrey is left in the room thinking, when he is convinced that his wife has gone he says. “You heard everything I trust Spider?”

The man emerges from the shadows and laughs nervously. “I did my king. You truly mean to go through with it?”

“Yes, I do, I will see her and her family fall.” he replies.

“Even though she is an innocent little girl? What would Lord Stark say?” the eunuch asks.

Joffrey looks at the man then his gaze burning into the man. “She is far from innocent. I will see her die, and you will be the one to kill her. After all, how else is your pisswater prince supposed to come out to play?” He laughs then at the expression on the eunuch’s face, and smiles. “You are not as powerful as you think eunuch.”

* * *

 

**4 th Month of 299 A.C. River Song**

**Lord Yohn Royce**

This war was getting them nowhere, Lysa’s forces continued to fight, even though Baelish was dead. He wondered at that, wondered why they continued to fight for so long, so firmly even though there was little left for them to fight for. Surely they knew that their time was coming to an end that the time of the falcon was coming to an end. It should have come to an end years ago, but it did not because of a decision Yohn made and they have been paying for it ever since. He can see the Eyrie somewhere in the distance, knowing that they are so close, he spurs his horse on, the field of battle is fraught with danger, but Yohn finds himself not caring, not wanting to know about the poison that lurks in the shadows.

Fighting through the grit, and the rain, it has been raining for as long as this war has been waging, Yohn keeps his head high, preventing himself from falling down onto the rocks below. They cannot lose this battle, they should not lose this battle, not with the strength they have, not with the power they have. He roars a command and they begin the slow march through the rocks and the rain, it is slippery, and Yohn feels his heart in his mouth on more than one occasion. Slowly but surely they emerge through it all and the fighting begins in earnest. Men on both sides fight with abandon, ignoring the steep descent down into an abyss without ending. It is a hell from somewhere far beyond, Yohn closes his eyes briefly and then draws his sword and begins the fighting himself.

There is something about the act of war, something Yohn cannot put his hand on, but it is something that makes him want to cry out in pain, something that makes him want to roar in anger. He sighs then, what good is it to lament the coming and going of young life when he decided on this course of action, when he was the one who decided that he would not make the same mistake as he made when Jon Arryn came calling. His sword continues throughout the crush, and the rage. He swings his sword, feels his heart hammering within his chest, not sure of what is happening beyond his own periphery, all he knows is that if he falls they are done for, he cannot fall. He takes cautious steps towards ensuring that that does not happen, he swings his sword, keeps calm and pushes forward. One small step at a time he pushes forward, determined not to end what he has not yet finished.

A roar echoes somewhere far in the distance, Yohn feels it shake his being, he is not sure if he is alone in hearing it, but from the way the men at his side jerk and shake he is not. He roars a command in response and they keep going pushing through the throng of enemy soldiers fighting them on the side and on the path, through it all his mind continues to plague him. The images he knows so well are fading, something or someone is going through it all, not remembering him, not caring for him, and how can he be this way, when before he was something else? What happened to him that made him this? This thing without sympathy, without care, without anything but a bare minimum to understand right from wrong. His hand shakes and his sword shakes with it, his mind is not fit for fighting, but his body is, his body is crying out for it.

He will not allow a bastard to sit the falcon throne, he’d rather die than allow that. And yet he wonders at the things that are happening around them, are they fighting for the right king? Is the king right in what he proclaims, is Harrold even right for the throne? Gods where are these questions coming from? He has not felt like this before now, and even now he does not know why he feels like this. Something is eating away at him, reminding him of all the things he would rather forget, it goes on and on, until there is no hope left for him. His sword acts of its own accord, the enemy keeps coming pushing through it all, and that roar, that primal sound, it inflicts something akin to pain on him.

Yohn has heard that sound once before, once long ago, when he was but a boy. He saw something when he went climbing with his brothers, before the war began in earnest. Something he thought lived only in legend, the thing had looked at him and his brothers with such curiosity that he had wondered at that. He had always thought such a thing would eat him and kill his brothers. But they had had something that the thing had wanted, and it had taken it before leaving. Gods, it had been so long since he had thought of this thing, he wanted to know what had become of this thing, but at the same time he was terrified, too terrified to find the thing and do anything about it, content to hide through the shroud of battle. There it is again, the roar, and the rocks shake and shift.

His mind is alive with activity, so much is going on within his mind, and he does not know how to change things, how to make anything better, so he continues fighting, his mind pounding with the ceaseless hum of war and battle. Men die screaming around him, he keeps himself alive and awake, but gods is he tired, so very tired. Somewhere in the distance a roar sounds once more, and this time Yohn knows he is done for, he goes laughing. A bronze giant on the horizon, screaming for vengeance.


	51. Sabbath, Oh Bloody Sabbath

**4 th Month of 299 A.C. Dornish Plains**

**Prince Quentyn Martell**

The war continued to rage, his sister was growing powerful, but the entry of his uncle Oberyn into the war had created chaos and confusion, and not for the first time Quentyn felt resentful of his uncle, the uncle who had cost him almost everything. Any chance of a decent relationship with his family had fallen through thanks to his uncle, and truth be told Quentyn wanted to find his uncle and have the man killed almost immediately, his anger was growing the more and more he thought about it. The war was raging around them all, Dorne was burning, his sister was too proud to accept she was losing the war, and Quentyn was growing angrier. His sister was the cause of this, by the gods was she the cause of it all, and he would have his revenge.

The site of this current battle was somewhere within the vicinity of where the Wyls had once tortured Orys Baratheon. A fitting sight, Quentyn thought considering the Wyls were fighting for him, had been brought round to his line of thinking after some long discussion. He smiles at the thought of the Wyls using their dark arts on Gerold Dayne, that man was a bane in Quentyn’s side. That his sister insisted on using him, was something that Quentyn could not understand, nor could he tolerate, he would see his sister dead for that. Anger grew within him at the thought, Gerold Dayne, a monster waiting to be brought to light, anger and frustration were growing within him now, he needed to focus, could not allow the man to get inside his head. Even though the man was leading his sister’s army, after Daemon Sand had been slain.

Quentyn knows his men are growing tired, and some merely want to fight Oberyn, and the men the man had brought with him to the fore. That his uncle had not declared for Arianne, and had sent Trystane off to King’s Landing was something Quentyn found interesting, it was also something he could not understand. All of Dorne knew what Prince Oberyn thought of the Lannisters and the Baratheons and yet he had been willing to allow Trystane to go into the lion’s den that was something that he found very suspicious, something he wanted to know more about. He would pry it out of his uncle before he did away with him. Viserys might be dead, but all hope was not yet lost, there was still something that could be done, Daenerys Targaryen was alive, and there was another across the sea who could be brought to use.

Sand was growing more powerful the further they marched, Quentyn knows his men are growing tired, that they wish to fight or be done with this whole thing, Quentyn cannot begrudge them that feeling, seven hells he feels it himself. This innate desire to retreat, to retire into something else, into a place where he can sleep and not worry about anything else. And yet he knows such a thing cannot happen for him, not whilst Arianne remains alive, the thought of killing his sister makes him balk somewhat, but he knows he must do what is necessary. His sister would only bring Dorne to ruin, if the people she uses as councillors is anything to go by, there would be nothing but chaos and ruin in Dorne if she were to become Princess of Dorne.

Quentyn will not allow that to happen, he will not allow his sister to continue displaying the arrogance with which she had lived her life before their father died. He had never understood why his father was so willing to allow her those extravagances, why he was so willing to look the other way whilst she did everything in her power to discredit the Martell name. Such a thought had angered him often, had made him want to scream in protest, to want to shout at the red mountains of Dorne of the injustice. That his father would overlook something Arianne did, and yet come down just as hard, if not harder on him for doing one thing wrong.

And then there was his mother, she who had left him and his siblings when they were barely old enough to understand what was happening. She who had left and not written, and then had returned when father was dying, and had had the nerve to demand that he not fight with his sister. She did not know Arianne, she did not know him, and she had the nerve to talk to him as if she did? Ha, no, not in the seven hells would he even allow her to dictate anything in his life. She had lost that right when she left them for Norvos. He did not know what he would when he came before her, but he would have her dealt with appropriately.

The hate he feels now has always been inside of him, had been there from the beginning, growing stronger and stronger, making something untenable, something bitter within him. He did not know how to feel, he knew that now, he did not know, nor did he care about the normal emotions, all he wished to do was break free from the constraints of the life his father had chosen for him and live. He wanted to be the Prince of Dorne, not merely his sister’s brother and heir. He wanted the power for himself, and he would get it for himself. He was determined to ensure that. It would be his, and there would be none who could come between him and achieving that, that vision that had kept him alive when he had felt as if he was being torn from the inside out. He was so determined to achieve this vision that he did not feel the arrows until they were forcing him off of his horse, his death not the glorious thing he had thought it would be. He dies alone and broken, as he had grown up.

* * *

 

**The Kingswood**

**Lord Eddard Stark**

He was a grandfather, it felt strange saying that and knowing it to be true. The babe that his daughter had given birth to was a boy, and the succession and Sansa’s place as queen was somewhat secure as well, Ned was glad of that. He was also somewhat relieved if he did say so himself when word had come that Lord Paxter Redwyne had been found slain within the Citadel, what the man was doing there he did not know, but it meant the dangerous pact with the Redwynes could be avoided for the time being and that Ned could find someone more suitable for Robb to marry. His son who was more and more in favour with the king, something Ned had not failed to notice. That was something he was curious about, especially as the way Robb acted around the king was the same way Daryn Hornwood acted around the king as well. It was somewhat worrying, but Ned knew that to think too much into it would only invite more questions than answers, and right now he could not afford that.

After months of coming toward the city, word had come some days ago that Renly Baratheon had finally sent a force of men under the command of Ser Loras Tyrell toward the city, the vanguard as it were. The host under Tyrell was some twenty thousand strong, and though Ned felt nervous about it, when the king had ordered him and the northern army to ride out to confront the host coming toward him, he had breathed something of a sigh of relief. Since Duskendale he had been feeling on edge, something was creeping onto him and he did not know what it was. Secrets he had long held were threatening to come forth and ruin him, and his family, and that was something he could not allow, something he could not prevent either, and so he remained silent, he continued on his march through, they looked at where their scouts had told them Tyrell was going to be marching through, and they had marched there. That was how they had come to the Kingswood, a place where they could fight through and use the trees as cover.

Tyrell had gone about it a long winding way, swaying and slanting through the woods, and Ned had grown frustrated, but had kept his patience. He knew there had been some skirmishes between his scouts and Tyrells men, but so far Tyrell had been kept blind about where Ned’s men actually were, and that was a good thing. The waiting was the worst part though, Ned had never been good with waiting, not when he was young and certainly not now, now there were many other things he had to content with and that was what was on his mind. The sound of footfalls somewhere in the distance draws his attention, he looks and sees his scouts return, they merely nod at him signalling that Tyrell is drawing near. Ned looks at path before him, he wonders what Tyrell is thinking, if he remembers correctly, this will be Tyrell’s first taste of battle, a curious thing that, the smell of battle and war. Drums sound somewhere off in the distance and Ned smiles, so that is how Tyrell is trying to play it is it? Trying to bring about nervousness and shake them, well it will not work, Ned knows his men, knows his commanders knows that they do not shake easily.

The drums grow nearer, and when they come close enough, Ned roars his command, and the men move forward, a slow advance through the woods, past the trees, Ned holds himself in line waiting and waiting. He keeps waiting even as the first line begins disappearing, even as he sees Greywind streaking into the darkness before them. He holds himself firm, pausing and waiting, and then it comes, the roar he had been expecting, a whip of thunder. Drawing his sword he pushes his horse onto the charge, his heart racing, his pulse drawing everything forward. Everything seems to speed up, pushing through them all, Ned draws his sword swinging it with a fierce intensity, pushing, swinging, cleaving, and swinging. Men are falling down before his fierce embrace, death is calling to them. Ned roars, roaring for he knows if does not roar he will cry. There is something about the act of fighting, something that inspires him to keep going, none of the worries he feels elsewhere are present. He knows how to fight, it was the one thing he was good at, and nothing else seems to matter when he fights. His sword takes away the pain of these flowers, makes them wilt to the ground.

Pains grinds into him, drawing him from the place of bliss that he goes to when fighting, it makes him roar, and plunge his sword deep into the bowels of the man who had dared draw him from the state he had been in. The man falls to the ground, Ned pushes on, his sword clean as if it had not been plunged inward. His son is nearby fighting, cleaning the ground of Tyrell men, somewhere Loras Tyrell is fighting, Ned knows what must needs be done and so he advances toward it, cutting and cleaving, men fall and die. Ned continues onward, his heart racing somewhat, as he watches his son fight and fall and rise again. He feels pride in Robb, pride that his son has become the man that Ned never could be. His sword does most of his thinking for him soon enough, Tyrell is there before him, and for all his talk of being a great swordsman, Tyrell is nothing, not really compared to anything else. Tyrell’s sword is removed and the battle ends with him a prisoner and his men all dead. Ned looks at Tyrell and makes a decision then, he has Tyrell’s hair shaved off, and his face beaten in, for Tyrell will fall, it has been decided. 


	52. Torture

**4 th Month of 299 A.C. King’s Landing**

**Prince Trystane Martell**

King’s Landing was big, bigger than anything he’d ever seen before. It was an intimidating place, and not just because it was the capital. Not for the first time, Trystane found himself remembering the history between his family and the king’s family, he found himself wondering why uncle Oberyn had sent him here, why his mother had agreed to come here, to the place where Aunt Elia had died. There was so much he did not quite understand about all of this, and it frustrated him, it really frustrated him. Then of course there was the other thing he had been given without an explanation, a hammer, it was heavy by the gods it was heavy, and judging by the look the king was giving it, it was necessary.

“Where did you get this hammer Prince Trystane?” the king asks.

Trystane notes how the king tries to keep his voice calm and largely succeeds. “My uncle Oberyn gave it to me Your Grace. He said to give it to you when I had the chance. And so now I have the chance and have given it to you.”

The king looks at him then, his expression thoughtful. “Well I thank you very much for this. I have looked long and hard for it.”

Trystane knows he should not ask, but he cannot help himself. “What is it? I know it is a war hammer, but what is it?”

The king looks at him. “This, this is Durran’s hammer. The hammer with which Durran tamed the gods and made them his own. And before him, it belonged to the first king. It is a powerful weapon.”

“Why was it in Dorne sire? Surely such a thing should be in the Stormlands if nowhere else?” Trystane asks.

The king considers this a moment and then responds. “I can see why you might think that, but the hammer was lost many years before Argilac the Arrogant rode out to fight Orys Baratheon. It was lost during the reign of one of the Durran kings, and as such it had been searched for many years, and yet none found it. It showed up within various other places, but never at the right moment. And now it is returned.”

Trystane considers this and then asks. “And what does it do?”

“You lifted the hammer, did you not my prince?” The king asks.

“I did Sire. I tried to at least.” Trystane replies.

“And how long did it take you to get to grips with it?” The king asks.

Trystane shifts around a bit then and responds. “I do not think I have gotten to grips with it even now sire.”

The king smiles then. He puts one hand to the hammer and lifts it up. Trystane watches with awe at the sight. He thinks he hears something sound in the distance, something akin to a storm. “You see, this hammer is my birth right my prince. It is mine, and now that it has come home, we can now prepare to fight Renly Baratheon.”

Trystane looks at the king still in awe at the sight before him, he bows his head. “Of course my king, Renly Baratheon will not stand a chance against you now.”

The king nods and then asks. “Now tell me of your brother and sister, and the war within Dorne.”

Trystane hesitates a moment unsure of what the king is asking of him. “What do you wish to know Sire?”

“Tell me about your sister and brother, their strengths and their weaknesses. It is not often that a Martell fights another Martell.” the king responds.

Trystane wants to say that Arianne is not a Martell, but he keeps his mouth shut on that matter, eventually though he responds. “Quentyn, he is quite quiet, and stubborn, he is someone who fights through whatever ails him. And yet, he is insecure, he does not know whether or not belongs to our family because of where he was raised, and how he was raised. He looks to the Yronwoods more than he does to our own heritage. He would make a bad prince of Dorne.” he pauses, closes his eyes and then thinks of Arianne. “Arianne, she is difficult, fiercely proud, she wants to be a ruler, and she wishes she could be a man, but she knows how to get what she wants using the thing between her legs.”

“And it would seem she has a good brain if the number of men fighting for her regardless of their age, is any indication. Though, one must wonder, why is it then that they are fighting? The king responds. “Oh I know about their arguments, but why are they really fighting.”

Trystane thinks over the question and then says. “I am not sure I understand Sire.”

The king sighs, and Trystane feels nervous, he does not want to disappoint the king. “What really motivates someone could be very different to what they say motivates them. I would know what is the cause of that, for your siblings.”

Trystane thinks he understands the question and so considers it. He thinks through all he knows of Quentyn and Arianne, pondering over the whole dynamic between the two of them. Eventually he says. “Quentyn hates Arianne for growing up under our father, and Arianne wishes she was Quentyn.”

The king smiles then. “And what do you think?”

“What do I think?” Trystane replies uncomprehendingly.

“Of them.” the king replies.

Trystane considers and then says coldly. “I think they are fools who are not worth the breath they breathe.”

His heart flutters when the king smiles at him. “Very good, you will do just fine here my prince. Now you may go.”

Trystane kisses the king’s ring, and bows, then departs from the king’s presence. He walks confidently, determinedly, he knows that the king finds him useful, so long as that remains the case, there is no reason why he can’t achieve greatness.

* * *

 

**Daenerys Targaryen**

She was scared, so very scared. How had it come to this? Viserys had been convinced that he was going to win, so very convinced that none would withstand the dragon, and yet, and yet he was dead, slain in Duskendale, the place where their father had gone mad. Dany was scared, very, very scared, she did not know why she was so scared, but she knew she was right to feel scared. There was something about this place that did not sit right with her, something that did not make it seem like home. She wanted to return to the house with the lemon tree and the red front door. It was all she had wanted, Viserys had not understood that though, he had wanted the throne and had died because of that. Dany, well Dany did not want to die, and now she looks at the man before and she knows she is going to die.

 The man before her is tall and intimidating, the Baratheon king, he looks something like the Kingslayer, and something like the usurper, so she has been told. She is not sure if that is right or not though. He wears his Baratheon livery, there is a crown somewhere nearby, something is going on, she cannot see though, not tied down as she is. The man looks at her and smiles. “Your line ends today Daenerys, how does that make you feel?” the man asks, sneering at her.

Dany looks at the man and responds shakily. “The dragon never dies, there will always be people who will fight for us.”

There is a laugh and the man responds. “You are a naïve little girl, just like your brother was a naïve man. There are no more Targaryen supporters. You are to die here today, and your line will end.”

“Why do you want me dead? Why do you not marry me instead?” she asks pleading, Viserys would slap her for that.

The man looks as if she has slapped him. “Marry you? Pah, I will not stain my marriage bed with the blood of mad man. You are not worthy of sharing my bed. Nor are you worthy of sharing my wife’s bed.”

“I am the blood of the dragon. I am more powerful than you.” Dany replies bitingly.

The straps tighten and cut into her. “You are not powerful my lady. You have no supporters, nor armies, you are nothing but a husk of a house.”

Dany looks at the man before her, and she feels such hatred. “You are a murderer.”

The man looks indifferent to this. “Yes, I am.”

“Does that not bother you?” Dany asks incredulously.

The man merely stares at her and laughs. “A king has to be willing to get their hands dirty. Now enough talk.” the man moves backward, and in the dark Dany sees him wielding what looks like a hammer.

She whimpers slightly, and the hammer hits her sides, and her hands. She screams with pain, and then the man swings his hammer once more, the pain comes in bitingly. She screams, and screams, but the man keeps swinging his hammer, until he does not. And then she falls forward, the straps are loose now, but her hands are bleeding. The man does not help her, but she struggles to her feet, she looks at her hands, they are a mess, bleeding and broken. She looks at the man, and then she tries to run, but a dog stops her from moving, his face burned. He tightens his grip on her and then pushes her back, and this time a man with the wolf catches her, he looks at her draws a dagger and cuts her face and she does not scream, she has seen this boy somewhere before, she knows him. She leans forward and kisses him, but then she is yanked back.

The man speaks then. “I see you have become acquainted with Jon. Now tell me my lady, what do you think I should do with you now? Jon would have me give you a quick death, but considering the pain you have given my father, and family, I think perhaps a longer death is better.”

Dany can feel the tears falling down her cheeks and she hates herself for that. “Why do you hate me so much?” she asks through a broken whisper.

The man stares at her, his expression hard. “You are all that was wrong with Westeros. Dragons came and they conquered, and they ruled for a time, and then you forgot how to rule. I will not allow that to happen again.”

Dany looks at the man and says. “You are mad, you have to be mad. You are doing something that is evil.”

The man laughs and squeezes her cheeks. “Evil? Was it evil when your father had Lord Rickard Stark burned to death whilst his son choked himself to death?”

“Stark had committed treason.” Dany says repeating the words Viserys had told her.

The man laughs. “You are a fool, your brother was mad and he died for it. Do you want to die the same way? Shall I tell you a truth?”

“You would only lie.” Dany says.

“Ser Barristan, come here.” The man barks. Ser Barristan Selmy, her father’s finest knight, a traitor. He looks at her and then at the man. “Tell her what you told me.”

The knight bows his head and then looks at her. “Prince Rhaegar was a mad man and a rapist, someone who took advantage of a young girl and raped her.”

Dany wants to scream at the man that he is lying, but somewhere, deep within herself, she knows he is speaking the truth. She looks at the man then and whispers. “Do what you want with me.”

The man merely smiles. “Oh I am.” He raises the crown then, places it atop her head and bows mockingly. “To the last dragon.” he raises his hammer, and Dany closes her eyes, she feels the hammer smash into her, and she dies screaming. 


	53. Growing Pains

**4 th Month of 299 A.C. Kingswood**

**King Renly I Baratheon**

Loras was gone, captured, Renly was angry, very angry. He had not wanted his lover to lead the vanguard and yet Loras had insisted on doing just that, it infuriated him, it really did. Those who had survived the battle, who had fled instead of protecting Loras he had had killed. It seemed his nephew was able to bring out the worst within him. Loras a prisoner, he dreaded to think of the horrors that the boy was placing upon his lover, Renly did not want to think of his friend and his lover, his everything being reduced to a mess, he knew Loras, and he knew his nephew somewhat. Any amount of time the two spent together was likely going to end badly. He clenches his fist, and screams inside. Outside though he remains calm, and looks at the lords before him.

He takes a breath and asks. “What word has there been from the south? What has happened to the Lannister army?

Lord Tarly speaks then. “It has disbanded. Broken by the deaths of Lord Tywin as well as Ser Kevan it fell apart when Lord Banefort died. It seems though that Lannister sent The Mountain that rides to King’s Landing, and so far none have found him.”

Renly perks up at this. “The Mountain is on the loose? Interesting, very interesting. That is one commander that has gone now. Most likely he has gone to King’s Landing, unless the Dornish have stirred forth from their own fighting.”

“I do not think they have my king.” Lord Tarly says in that ominous tone of his. “It would seem the Dornish remain more and more involved in their own affairs. And as such with the emergence of Prince Oberyn into the field of battle, it will only increase.”

“I still think that we should send a force to invade the Dornish plains. We could gain much and more from doing such a thing.  Think of the treasure we could take.” Lord Mace says.

Renly looks at his goodfather and says. “With the grey plague ravaging parts of the Reach, sending more men than I have to anywhere that is not with me is a most stupid move my lord.”

“I think Lord Tyrell has some interesting points though my king. We need to deal with the fact that with Ser Loras’ defeat, we are now fighting blind somewhat. We must all assume that Joffrey Baratheon will not send men out to fight once more, well certainly not the Northmen for the time being. That suggests he will try and lure us out of here. Invading Dorne might prove an ample distraction.” Lord Costayne says.

“To whom?” Renly asks. “Us, or to their forces? There will be one thing that will unite a Dornish army, or two opposing ones, and that is an army of Reachmen and Stormlords coming toward them. No I say we remain here.”

“And do what precisely my king?” Lord Grandison asks. “We are here, yes, but the men have taken a severe blow in dealing with the loss of the vanguard. Twenty thousand men rode with Ser Loras and paid for his folly with their lives. Now what would you have us do? Remain here, sitting and waiting for the nerves to kill us off?”

Renly looks at Grandison and wonders, Cafferen has remained quiet for a long time now, and Renly wonders if the man has turned Grandison into his voice. “I would have us think for a time. To consider all strategies before turning into a headless goose.”

“A shame then, that you did not apply such thinking to Ser Loras before he went charging off blindly into the enemy’s force.” Lord Cafferen says speaking for the first time, his voice filled with venom. “A shame then that, you allowed your emotions to cloud your judgement Sire.”

“What are you suggesting my lord?” Renly asks fighting to keep his voice calm.

“I am suggesting that you have been far too influenced by those who would use you to further their own gain. You have not fought a battle yet my king. The men are looking at you and wondering why they are fighting for you. Either send men out and fight, or put your crown down and ride to King’s Landing.” Lord Cafferen says.

Renly feels as if he has been slapped across the face by the man’s words. He looks at Cafferen and says. “You are recommending that I surrender? Why? What has brought this treason on?”

“You have fought not battles.” Cafferen says his voice cold. “You remain in comfortable confinement, whilst your men fight and die at the sword. Why should anyone fight for you, if you remain here, out of their sight? You want King’s Landing, do not send someone else to do your work for you. Lead your armies, and do it yourself.”

There is a shocked murmuring throughout the war tent, Renly himself feels as though he has been slapped awake. Anger courses through him, white hot, painful, he sees lights, and he sees Robert, his brother dancing before him, mocking him. He has always lived in Robert’s shadow, him and Stannis both have. He looks at his brother’s shadow, and he growls into himself. He looks at Cafferen, the man who has been nothing but a thorn in his side and then he barks. “Have Lord Cafferen executed. It is time we ended this foolishness.”

There is a lot of murmuring as Cafferen is dragged out of the tent by the guards. Renly looks at the man and then at everyone else. “Is there anyone else who feels the same as Lord Cafferen?” Silence is the answer, Renly looks at the man and then at the court around him. He considers his options and then says. “I think it is time we moved forward, we move for King’s Landing within the day.” He will do what Robert never did, and take King’s Landing himself.

* * *

 

**King’s Landing**

**King Joffrey I Baratheon**

The crown hummed, he felt powerful so very powerful. He was ruling over two things now that had complete power, the crown and the hammer, both were always with him. He ruled the throne, and soon he would destroy Renly Baratheon. Loras Tyrell was his prisoner, and he intended to try one thing with the prisoner. Daenerys Targaryen had died far too soon, he supposed his urges had gotten the better of him, he had meant to have some more fun with her before killing her. But then she had spouted off that bollocks about her father, and well he had just had to have her shut up. Her body was somewhere, being eaten by dogs no doubt, the thought made him laugh somewhat. The great Targaryen dynasty ended with dogs. Now the Tyrell boy he was going to break him and turn him into his own creation.

His Kingsguard are by his side, Jon-he will come into play later- and Ser Jaime, and he looks at the boy who sits there forlornly before him, and smiles. “Come now Ser Loras, why do you look so glum? At least you are not dead.”

The knight looks at him and snarls. “I should kill you.”

Joffrey puts a hand on Jon’s arm to stop him from hitting the boy and says. “Ah, come now, you would not want to do that. After all, there is no fun in angering your host now is there?”

“What do you want?” the knight asks.

Joffrey looks at the man before him, and says simply. “You are to tell me what you know of my uncle and his plans for the final battle.”

Ser Loras laughs. “And why would I tell you that?”

Joffrey nods and Jon hits the boy over the head. “Because if you do not, I will make you watch as your lover is killed and your sister is beaten. Now tell me what you know.”

The boy looks at him defiantly. “You can rot in the seven hells for as long as I care. I will not betray Renly.”

Joffrey laughs. “Ser Jon, I do believe our guest has forgotten his manners, remind him if you will.”

Jon, moves toward Loras with a knife and presses the knife against his throat. “The harder Jon presses the more blood will fall out. Now, what do you know?” Joffrey says.

The knight’s eyes are glazing over, Joffrey hides a feeling of smugness, the plan is working, and the blood is infecting him. “I…I know that he has faced dissent within his ranks.”

Joffrey looks at the knight and then asks. “Who? Who has been resisting him?”

“Lord Grandison, and Lord Cafferen. It seems they think he is not fit for the mantle of kingship, they think he should surrender.” Loras replies his voice thick.

Jon looks at him then asking if he should keep the knife pressed to the boy’s throat. Joffrey merely nods and then asks. “And, what of my uncle. What does he think?”

The knight is falling deep within the spell, Joffrey can see that now. “I… he thinks that perhaps there is some truth in what they say. He knows that the alliance between the Stormlords and the reach is not as secure as he might like it.”

“And what does he plan on doing about this?” Joffrey asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

“He thinks that he can take King’s Landing. He knows there are ways to get into the city without directly confronting an army and yet, it seems that he feels torn between wanting to go for an all-out invasion and wanting to wait for you to make a mistake.” the knight replies, his voice thick.

“Why does he hesitate?” Joffrey asks.

“He wants the hammer, he wants it, and he wants it badly enough to want to force you into doing something rash.” Loras replies.

Joffrey considers this and then says. “And your sister, what is she whispering into your lover’s ear?”

Loras Tyrell laughs at that. “Margaery has no power over Renly. She does nothing but sulk and sit down somewhere far away. They have not consummated their marriage.”

Joffrey perks up at this, he looks at Ser Jaime, and when the man comes near him he whispers. “Go to the High Septon and inform him of this. Tell him to make of it what he will, but he is to use it.” his uncle nods and walks out.

Joffrey turns his attention back to Ser Loras, Jon has kept the knife pressed against the man’s throat, and blood is spilling out, whilst blood is being poured in as well through the knife. He can see the affect this is having on the young rose. “Now, tell me Ser Loras, what do you make of Renly Baratheon?”

There is a long pause, and Joffrey wonders if the boy has taken in too much of the blood. Eventually though the boy replies. “He, he is many things. He is my love, he is my king, and he is my knight. He is a smart man, but he has his flaws, like any man. I do not know, but I think he would do well as king. I think he would be good. If he could get away from everyone and be his own man.”

A curious turn this, Joffrey considers this. “And you think he is too influenced by others?” he asks.

The knight nods. “I think there is something within him that has a fierce desire to impress people.”

“And if he does not get over this what will you do?” Joffrey asks.

Another long pause, and this one stretches on for what seems an age. Joffrey wonders if he has gone too far this time that Tyrell will break from his stupor and might well become something else. However, it seems his fears are unwarranted, for soon enough, the man replies, his voice slurred. “Then I would kill him, for you, I would kill him….Your Grace.”

 


	54. Fight

**4 th Month of 299 A.C. The Vale of Arryn**

**Ser Harrold Hardying**

Yohn was dead, had died fighting for him, that had been a big blow, the man had helped Harry find his feet as a commander, as a knight and as a man. Yohn had died, and some of the lords who had supported Harry had considered moving forth from him back to Lysa Arryn, and yet they had remained true. It had taken all of his gut and words, to convince them to remain, he knew there would be difficulty, there would be those who looked at how young he was and wondered whether he was the right person for the task at hand. He was determined to show them that he was up for the task, that he could ensure that they would get the rewards they were fighting for. That justice could be had, he would ensure that, and he would make sure they were victorious, for Yohn they would win.

Conflict, he was bred for war, he was bred for fighting, not for intrigue, but he knew that it was something he needed to improve on, had hoped Yohn would be able to help him with, and yet now Yohn was gone, there was no point waiting for something to happen. He would need to teach himself how to improve, and how to gain power. He had lords supporting him, but once this was all said and done he would need to show them all that he had what it took to become the thing that was needed within the Vale. For too long had the Vale fallen by the wayside, under Jon Arryn in his dotage, the Vale had become something less than what it should have been and Harry was determined to change that, he would fight as many wars as it took to make the vale great once more.

The march had begun somewhere near the crack of dawn, Harry had woken before most within the camp had. He had been nervous, and determined, he knew there were some things that needed to be addressed, somethings that needed to be done before they marched for the final battle, and he had spent those early morning hours doing those things. He did not wish to suffer another tragic loss as he had done when Yohn had died. And so there had been offerings made, to the fire witch of the burned men, and to the seven. Somewhere within him there had been a fire lit, and he knew he would continue fighting, fighting until he could not fight any longer. The Royces were firm in their support for him, and for that he was deeply grateful, he was not sure if he could do these things without them.

Harry pushes the worries from his mind, there are men before them, guarding the pass toward the Eyrie, and he wonders why Lysa Arryn has not moved from there. But knowing her, she perhaps thought there would not be a risk of any coming close toward her. As with everything, it seems that Lysa Arryn had forgotten that the lords of the Vale were not loyal to her, had never been loyal to her. Those who had fought for her had been broken when Lord Corbray had been slain in the fighting. Harry laughs thinking of that now, he knows how much such a thing would have angered Lysa Arryn, and he finds he does not care all that much. He wonders and then he pushes forward, determined to break through and claim his birth right.

The fighting begins in earnest when Harry raises his sword and leads the charge. He knows that perhaps he should fight on the sides, commanding a reserve unit, but he is young, and he will not cower behind something else not when he has the chance to leave and to dispel any who would question his bravery. He remains strong, and true, even as the crash envelops him, leaning forward he swings his sword, feeling the relief in him as it connects with someone or something. There had been a part of him that had been deeply worried that he would fall at the first hurdle. TO have come so close only to fall, that would have been unbearable, and so he pushes on, swinging his sword, fighting, clawing his way through all the nerves and emotions that are raging within him.  He bites back the urge to roar, and instead bellows his commands, determined not to let something let him fall. He swings his sword, pushes through and roars, biting through it all. Crashing and swinging through it all, there is a sense of primal urgency within him. This was what he was born to do, nothing more, nothing less, and yet he must make more of himself, he has to, if he wishes to stand a chance.

A crash and a bang somewhere nearby breaks him from the risk of grim tidings. He bellows his commands and soon enough he and his men are charging toward the gates of the Eyrie. There are men waiting for him, somewhere, they are there, and he sees them and destroys them, swinging his sword like a man possessed. He supposes he is, he rides through them and into the Eyrie itself, and he roars his triumph, there is something sweet in the feeling of battle, and success, he remains seated on his horse riding through it all, killing and fighting. He roars commands, determined to prevent any who supported the old regime from escaping, this is his moment, his moment in the sun. He rides onto the throne room, and when he enters there is a small boy lying on the floor blood pooling around him, and the woman lies on the throne his throne. He dismounts, walks past the boy, and shoves the woman, and sits on the throne. He has returned home, and by the gods it feels good.

* * *

 

**King’s Landing**

**Ser Jon Stark**

Renly Baratheon’s forces had been spotted some few hundred feet from the capital, and there had been a sense of panic, and yet the king had not panicked, no he had remained calm. He had ordered the city watch prepared and then had sent Jon’s father and brother and the northmen to ride out as the first wave to deal with Renly’s host. Jon could hear the fighting from where he stood, next to the king. The king remained still as a statue, almost as if he was not wanting to tempt fate, as if he was willing to allow himself a moment’s silence. Jon was shaking inside, worried over his father and brother, he wanted to be fighting by their side, and yet his duty was to the king, and as such he remained silent waiting for the king. There was a crash somewhere outside, and Jon shook visibly hurting from that sound, it was grating on his nerves. Eventually the king moves, and raises his hammer, the gates open and the fighting for Jon begins proper.

Jon feels Ghost at his side, the white direwolf silent as always. Jon’s own heart is hammering, this is his first taste of proper battle, and he wonders how the king can remain so calm and confident. He wonders if the king is feeling as nervous as Jon himself is. The king, the man on admires so fervently, Jon hopes that he will not disappoint his sovereign today, that would be more than he could bear, and as such he keeps himself steady, even though his nerves are on edge. Gods he does not like this feeling, they ride out, and it feels as though everything is slowing down, something he has never been good at, waiting. And then they are quickening, the army following the king’s pace, they continue riding and then they are in the throng of battle. Jon draws his sword and his blood leads him through the fighting, he swings his sword and it begins.

Taking a deep breath, Jon imagines himself back in the sparring yard in Winterfell, it is not some reachman that he is fighting, but rather Robb.  He takes a breath, and then moves forward, using his remembered techniques to fight, he swings his sword, and as men come toward him they fall. That gives him confidence, he swings his sword, men rise and fall, and still he remains standing, the strong man in the midst of the chaos. He swings his sword, and men fall, he blocks and more men come. Nerves are filling him with a sense of dread, but he has never felt more alive. He marvels at that feeling, knowing that war is filling him with a sense of completion. He knows Ghost is feeling alive, more so than he has done for many years before hand. Somewhere in the distance, Jon knows the king is by his side, fighting like a god, and somewhere within the army is Loras Tyrell.

Jon had wondered at the wisdom of keeping Tyrell within the army. He does not know whether the man can be trusted, and yet the king had said that Tyrell could be trusted for an extent and so Jon had been willing to give the man the benefit of the doubt. He does not like Tyrell though, the boy is far too cocky for Jon’s liking, his skill with a sword is secondary, and it is nowhere near as good as many have made it out to be. Jon had defeated him several times during their sparring sessions in preparation for the battle. And yet the king thinks him essential to their progress in winning this war, he is not sure why, or how, but he will not question his king. He would not dream of doing such a thing. Instead he keeps his attention primarily focussed on the men coming before him, keeps his focus on ensuring that they are brought down to size. Ensuring they do not get anywhere near the king. His fellow sworn brothers Ser Jaime and Ser Barristan are by his side, fighting for the king.  He knows Ser Barristan took ill after they were done with Daenerys Targaryen, but he has not thought of the why, Ser Barristan is not as great as one might think.

Daenerys Targaryen, Jon does not know why, but since her death, she has been on his mind somewhat. She looked familiar, and yet Jon does not know why that should be the case, before then he had never met her, and now well now she haunts him sometimes. It is worrying for him to an extent, and there are times when he wishes to scream in frustration. For the time being though, he is content to remain silent, to allow those thoughts remain exactly that, thoughts. Things which are of no concern to him now. The dragons are dead, they are not going to rise at all, and Jon is happy for that, happy that the scourge of his family are done for, that they will never rise from the ashes. The seven kingdoms will be far better off without them there.  The dragons had brought nothing but pain and suffering to the kingdoms, perhaps it is good that they are all gone now. It will make things far easier, far, far easier. For the king, for them all.

The fighting is now fast and furious, something within him is screaming for relief, for an end, just for a moment. Just so that he can ensure that things are okay, so that he does not need to worry anymore. He takes a breath and then plunges himself back into the fighting, his sword is weaving a bloodied path through everything, ensuring that there is none who can fight the king. The king though is fighting as well, moving quickly, fighting like a god, it is something to behold. Jon feels tiredness sneak into his bones, perhaps that is why he does not see the man coming for him, perhaps that is why he is slow to defend, and perhaps that is why the world goes black.


	55. Fight, Part 2

**4 th Month of 299 A.C. Kingswood**

**Lord Eddard Stark**

Here he was again, riding out to fight. Fighting, it seemed that was what he was made for. The will to fight, the desire to live and die by the sword, it was something he had never truly understood, something he had never wanted to truly understand, and yet it was innately part of him. It was something he did not need to understand to know that he needed to fight to live. That realisation in itself was somewhat worrying for him, something that he was not sure he liked about himself, and yet it was necessary, he had to do it, otherwise he would not feel alive. Try as he might, he could not deny that, whether or not that made him feel as if he was a base man, with base instincts he did not know, and he found he did not truly care, not right now. Right now he needed to feel his sword on flesh, he needed to know he was still breathing.

Renly Baratheon was an impatient man it would seem, not long after losing his vanguard and his lover-the mere thought was somehow strange to Ned-, the man had come charging towards the city with his whole army. Ned had been alarmed by that, alarmed at how quickly the man had snapped, had changed. It seemed that his actions with regards to the Lords Cafferen and Grandison was something that might well have pushed him over the brink, and Ned felt something akin to pity for the man, something that might have been grief, had the man not been threatening his own family. Ned had watched the man in King’s Landing, and he had not liked what he had seen, and now, well now he knew what needed to be done to the man.

Ned can feel his heart hammering within his chest, his son is by his side, Robb has become a fine young man, someone that will rule the north for many years to come. He still needs to find a wife for his son, and as of now he is not quite sure whom that woman will be. Whoever she is, she will be very lucky, Ned thinks. His son is truly a man to be proud of. They ride together through the silence of the woods, and then slowly but surely, the charge begins. Ned roars, and Greywind howls in response, enough to send someone shivering back to their hovels. He knows Renly will not retreat though, the man has become too much like Robert, and he will not retreat now, not soon enough.

Ned feels his heart rush before him, he knows there are some things he still needs to do, but he must fight for the king, nothing is as important as fighting for the king right now. Renly Baratheon is the greatest threat that there could possibly be for the king, and right now he must suffer. Renly Baratheon must fall, Ned barks commands and the men come charging toward the oncoming Baratheon army. Slowly and surely, they crash into one another, the force of battle coming before them. Ned swings his sword, carving a path through those less than fortunate, and as such slowly but surely, they begin to advance through. Ned knows that if he can get toward Renly Baratheon he can end this war, in one stroke, in one swing the war could end.

Men are pouring in from all over, it seems Renly Baratheon is not going to be holding back. They have more men than Ned does, but Ned’s men are battle tested, Renly’s are not. That shows in how the two sides conduct themselves, one is fighting with a ruthless intensity, the other fights with the makeup of a side struggling to hold itself in and not flee. Ned swings his sword, and watches as men fall, he wonders at all this, wonders if things are going okay within the north, and there are things he wishes he could say, things he knows he should have said. And yet the right moment has never come about, the right moment has never presented itself before him.

Ned can feel victory closing in, the force that Renly has sent to fight him and his men are coming very close toward breaking, Ned knows this because of how they are shaking, of how they are falling down on themselves, and he knows then what needs to be done. Barking several commands at once, Ned and his men fall into a position that will allow them to gain the most advantage from their current position. They move toward the enemy, advancing slowly, slowly but surely, and soon enough the men on the enemy side are falling down on their sword, trying to make their way out without breaking into a half part. Ned can feel something akin to relief growing within him, perhaps they might force Renly’s host to break.

He knows that the king will be coming out with his army, but Ned is not sure if the two forces combined will be enough to break Renly’s host. It is still huge, even with the losses they suffered the first time round. Ned wonders where the river lander host is, where Ser Edmure might have gotten to. He thinks his Goodbrother might slowly be advancing on the battlefield, judging by some of the things he has heard and seen within the past few moons. His thoughts are with his wife and children as he clings through the fighting. Robb is somewhere, fighting and killing men, Ned can feel the ache within himself and he knows that perhaps the time has come.

Ned has always known how to die, but he did not think it would come like this, fighting a Baratheon. He always thought it would come fighting those things he knows about but does not trust himself to voice. Alas, it seems the gods have another plan for him, and as such he welcomes it with open arms, welcomes the sweet relief, that he knows will come from victory, just as horns sound, he sees the stranger walking toward him, and he laughs.

* * *

 

**A Dead Man Walking**

He feels as though he is floating in the air. He does not know where he is, or what is happening, but he knows that there was a battle raging around him. He can hear the sounds of men fighting, of men screaming to meet their ends. Of women and children crying for the dead, the dead that they will never get to see again. It is a strange thing for him, knowing all of this, his whole life he had only thought about himself or his king, he had never thought about anyone else, never stopped to consider the effect his actions might have had on others. He thinks of things that he has never thought of before and he wonders, he wonders if perhaps this is what comes from nearly dying, it is a strange thought process, if he is indeed dying.

For there is something within him that makes him think he is not dying. Something within him that is fighting against that very urge. Oh it would be so very easy to fall into the grip of death, he can see it waiting for him, it holds some very enticing secrets there for him, but he is not ready to go just yet. He knows there are somethings that he must yet do, and he is determined to ensure that he gets them done. He will not die, not before he can get them done. There is a tiredness there though, something that is making him seriously consider falling into the eternal slumber. And yet, and yet he knows his king needs him, he feels it within him, feels the urge to wake and to fight once more. He cannot leave, his king has not dismissed him.

He feels himself being moved, he sees it in a sense, there is a racket going on, it seems the army are retreating, or celebrating, he is not sure what is happening. Not sure he wants to know. But he feels himself being pulled around, being brought back toward where they had come from. He watches all of this as if watching from the sky, there is something frankly, quite odd about this. This sensation of watching without feeling, and now they are taking them to somewhere within the city. The city is holding, and yet there is something within him that knows there is something wrong with this picture. It appears far too idyllic, it does not seem real enough to him, and he knows just how much his king favours realism over the grandeur of his father and mother.

Darkness is an ever present thing, it seems darkness has always been there, somewhere, creeping within him at the back of his mind, always there reminding him of something else that might well be there. Something that might not be real, but it is there, reminding him of the truth, of the fact that he is not completely innocent within the facts of the life he has made for himself. Something else is there, he is not sure, but he feels anger at it being brought to life right now. He wants to roar at it to leave him alone, he wants to tell the thing to bugger off and not return, but he knows that he will not do that, that he cannot do that. He was not raised that way, was raised to treat all as fair and sundry, even though he was never raised that way, was never treated that way.

Something about that amuses him, it is almost as if his father- if the man even was his father- raised him to be something that was just not right. It was only when he met the king that he ever became thoroughly understanding of just what his role within all of this was. It was not to be some sort of night’s watch fool, it was to be a knight, a man who fought for a king who was worthy of serving, and that is what this king is, he has always been that. The king might be called a tyrant by some, but they are narrow minded, they do not understand the greatness within the king, the feeling of power he has, and the feeling of righteousness that he has.

Pain, that is something new to him. He had not felt before now, it is a sharp sensation, something odd, he does not know what to make of it, if it is in fact actually happening, whatever this thing is, it is sharp and it is a contrast to the peace he had known before. It increases the more and more they push into him. He wants to growl in pain, but he is not sure how to do that, or even why he would want to growl, he is not an animal, somewhere within him he knows that some part of him is an actual animal, and yet still they keep going. Someone is pricking him with something, and it is increasingly beginning to anger him, he does not want to keep it within himself. He wants to scream, and shout, and cry, and yet there is nothing he can do, not right now.  It is pushing at him, making him shake and shout, he knows he is crying out, can feel himself crying out, there is blood, a lot of blood, but he does not know whose blood it is. He hears a woman screaming, a face but no name, it shakes him, and it truly does.

Desperate, he claws out at the thing before him, the thing he sees and he knows, that he can trust somewhat. He moves toward it, desperate to touch, and then suddenly the fog begins lifting, he feels power flow through him, a thing opening its wings, he sees the king, and he smiles. The king smiles and laughs in celebration, he feels power, and he knows what he must do, there is a foe he must find and kill. And on it goes, and then suddenly Jon Stark opens his eyes, and sees himself for what he truly is. 


	56. Into The Breach Once MOre

**4 th Month of 299 A.C. **

**King Renly I Baratheon**

They had had to retreat from the gates of King’s Landing, it had been too much, they had attacked far too soon, and Renly had regretted that. His anger and his impulsiveness had nearly gotten them all killed. He had underestimated his nephew’s fierce desire to win, and as such they had lost men, far more men than Renly was willing to lose. But then of course there was Loras, Loras who was somewhere within the army his nephew had amassed, and he was determined to get Loras back, even if it cost him his crown. He would have his love back, and he would do whatever it took to get Loras back, he did not care what anyone else had to say, it was time for him to act the king, to act how he should have done from the beginning.

He had summoned his lords and called a meeting, and there and then it had been decided that they would march out once more. There was no stopping them this time, they had far more men than his nephew did, even though Stark had slain a fair few of them. Stark himself was dead, that was something to think on as well, his brother’s best friend was dead, gone, slain. Renly did not know who had killed the man, but he now knew that his task had been made all that much harder because of it, he was not sure how he felt about that, but he knew somewhere along the line he would need to answer for that. It was just one more thing he needed to answer for.

The armies his nephew is sending at him are coming toward him now, Renly holds firm, remaining strong and steadfast, he cannot break now, to do so would only encourage his men to break and flee. He knows the Stormlords have considered it since the first time, and he does not want to give them any more reason to believe that he should flee. He regrets his actions, he regrets many things but he will not allow them to create something of a pool within him. He watches the men come charging toward him and then he barks commands and the fighting begins in earnest. He swings his sword and cuts down men, cuts them down and fights for the first time with a fierceness he did not know he possessed. Even this, him fighting on the front line is new, but he knows he cannot afford for his men to think him weak.

The enemy comes towards them, and Renly swears there is someone fighting through the fog that he has created with his army, something that was to prevent them from coming too close, and yet he knows there is someone coming towards him, determined to finish him off. He thinks he knows who that is, and he waits for them to come toward him. He feels sweat glowing within him, and he knows that there will come a time when he might not be able to do this anymore. And then the man is there, and all thought leaves him. Loras, his love, his knight, he takes a breath and then they begin. This is a dance they know well, sparring, sometimes it would end with them kissing and making love, but now he knows it can only end in one way, and that breaks his heart. He swallows, fighting to keep his pain from engulfing him. The swords clash, and then it goes on. Dancing through the gates of hell, he swings his sword, Loras blocks, Loras swings his sword and Renly blocks.

Pain, it engulfs him, so much pain, he does not know why he fights. He would rather sit down and slump and allow his love to finish him, but his pride is there, it is forcing him to keep fighting, he will not stop, not for love, not for anything. He will take the throne or he will die trying to take it. He knows there is not much more he can do now, he swings his sword and their dance continues. He thinks of Loras, and the love he feels for the man before him, the man trying desperately to kill him. He thinks of the first time they kissed, of the sweetness of Loras’ lips on his, he thinks of the rain, and how Loras looked so beautiful when it rained. He thinks of all of that and his heart aches.

Maybe Loras’ heart is aching as well, for he hears his love cry out then, and Renly knows, some part of him knows that this is his chance. He darts and he watches as Loras falls, broken and bloodied and dead. Renly screams then, he screams and screams, but Loras does not rise from the ground, does not remain there, broken and betrayed. Renly stands there looking at his love’s body, and he feels hot tears running down his face. He blinks and then he rides on, Loras’ image stained into his mind, the fighting blurs for him then. He thinks they are winning but he does not know, he does not care, he is not sure he can care anymore, how could he? When the only person he has ever loved has just been killed, killed at his own hands.

His army is being destroyed. He does not know how or why, but he knows there is another figure coming toward him. This one fight likes a man possessed. A wolf, or something else, Renly does not know, but on the man fights, and soon enough there he is. Renly looks at the man, and sees something within him, he has seen those eyes before, that expression before. And then he knows he is done, he swings his sword brings his force into it, but it is nothing, nothing compared to this man, and he dies crying for Loras.

* * *

 

**King’s Landing**

**King Joffrey I Baratheon**

He had won, his uncle was dead, and the lords of the reach and the Stormlands who had fought for his uncle were either dead or were soon to be killed. Jon, Jon had won the battle for him. Joffrey had been busy killing the Tyrells all of them at once, when Jon had gone off to find and fight Renly Baratheon. The man had killed his lover, and then, well Renly was dead, and then most of his guards and his army died with him. Jon was a powerful weapon, a powerful swordsman, and he was Joffrey’s all Joffrey’s. There were none who could stand in his way, none at all, such a thought was intoxicating, and truly it was.   There had been losses as well, Lord Stark was dead, but there was much more to this whole thing, and now he could revel in it.

He looks at the court, all of them decked out in their finery and says. “We thank you all for coming. IN the darkest hour of the city, we stood united and we have won. Renly Baratheon is dead, his army slaughtered, his men killed and to be killed. We have won a glorious victory, and we could not have done this without you.”

The court roars with approval, and Joffrey goes on. “There are many who deserve to be praised. Lord Eddard Stark for his good service as hand of the king, his son Lord Robb for commanding the northern army in the rearguard. Ser Jon Stark for destroying Renly and his army. The Kingsguard for their actions during this war. And most importantly, to you all. The people of King’s Landing deserve the most appropriate praise for all.” a pause as the crowd cheers. “Of course there is one thing that must needs be sorted and that is the trial of those who did wrong. Bring them in.”

The lords are brought before them, their charges are read before them. Joffrey looks at them and then stands, and says. “You are all guilty of treason and shall die for this fact. I shall not allow such heinous crimes as those you have committed go unpunished.” He takes his hammer, and walks down the steps of the throne towards the men, Jon accompanying them. There are some twenty lords there before him, he takes a breath and then moves very quickly. Soon enough the men are dead, their blood falling onto the floor.

That done, Joffrey returns to his throne, and sits down. He looks at the people in the court and says. “We have entered a new age of peace. It is time for us all to embrace that fact, there will be no more fighting with each other, not without our say so. This time there will be no more Targaryens, no more rebellions. Any who attempt to do so shall be killed. Bring in Lord Varys.”

The eunuch is wheeled in on the torture device. Joffrey looks at the people of the court and says aloud. “Welcome to the fate of any who dare go against the will of us. We are now going to show you what happens to someone like Lord Varys. Begin the wheel.” Varys spins round and round and round, and then Joffrey calls for it to end and says. “Lord Varys committed treason, for many years he tried to remove my father from the throne. Targaryens he has supported, and now he shall die like one. Bring the fire.”

The fire is brought and then is lit, and the eunuch dies screaming. Joffrey watches it with some fascination before standing and walking out. His job is done, the items are all his now, he has the power. For good, and for bad, he is the king and all shall be his. 


End file.
